


Welcome To The Jungle

by ivorydice



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood, Broken Bones, Captivity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt!noctis, Hurt/Comfort, More tags to be added, Noctis centric, Self-Worth Issues, Some hurt bros, Swearing, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-31 01:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorydice/pseuds/ivorydice
Summary: “All hail the Prince of Lucis!”The hunters cheered and applauded in response. The general tone of it, however, was almost sarcastic, scathing even. It was a mockery of an entrance, and it made Noctis shiver.This was personal. Whatever this was about, whatever this was to them, it was personal. The way they stared at him with such disdain, the way they loved to see him hurt, it was obvious how much they hated him for beinghim.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooooo hello (◕ᴗ◕✿)
> 
> Honestly, I wasn't planning on posting this fic until I was actually finished writing it lol. I've had this one planned for a few months, and I've actually been writing it for a little while now, buuuut...I'm impatient haha. And I figured that maybe posting up the first chapter now might encourage me to get the rest done ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I'm not sure how long the updates will take on this one, but since I've had most of this planned out since the beginning, it shouldn't take too long to write? HA, yeaaaah sure lol. I'm also not sure how long it'll end up being now, as it was originally supposed to be around 3 - 4 chapters long, but the first chapter got so long I had to split it into two, soooo, yeah. That serves me right for trying to have a plan, right?
> 
> (I've also taken a few liberties with this fic, but you might not even notice haha)
> 
> Somehow, this whole fic literally started because of [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjt-aYQO5zA), and so that's what I'm naming it after lol. (Don't get me wrong, I love Guns N' Roses, but this version is gorgeous).
> 
> What happened, this note was gonna be so eloquent and explain everything perfectly. Caffeine why do you do this me ¯\\_(°∀°)_/¯
> 
> Okay, bye <3

  
  
It was raining again.  
  
It would have been refreshing, soothing almost, with the way it ran through his hair and down his face, cool against his heated cheeks. It would have been welcome with the way it soaked into his t-shirt, made it cling to his skin, far better than the sweat from before.  
  
It would have been nice, except for the way it turned the dirt beneath him into mush, had his sneakers squelching in it, his feet sometimes sticking into place and sinking down, other times sliding in it.  
  
His feet slipped this time, and he tried to get his balance back, but his sneakers and the mud worked against each other, had him falling down anyway, and he braced himself for the landing as best as he could. He fell to his arms and knees, shocks of pain rushing up through his elbows like mini bolts of lightning. His tied wrists landed straight into the mud, splashing bits up onto his face. The rope around his neck jerked slightly, pulling at his skin and forcing his jaw up a little, making him wince with panic.  
  
And, around him, the men laughed.  
  
“Fuckin’ disgrace,” one snapped as he passed by, and he slammed his boot into Noctis’s side, sending pain shooting through his ribs and nearly knocking him over. The man sneered and spat at him before continuing up the hill.  
  
“Look at our prince,” another one called out. He sounded amused, growing confident when there were a few answering chuckles. “Not so high and mighty now, are ya?”  
  
Noctis glared up at them all, but he said nothing as he scrambled back to his feet, slipping a little in the mud, and he was all too aware of the rope around his neck, the one that tethered him to the back of the truck in front of him. It had halted when he fell, thank the gods for that, but he might not be so lucky next time. He hadn’t been before, after all, and Noctis’s throat still ached from that little stunt, from being dragged forwards and having to jog to keep up, desperately pulling on the rope to avoid being choked to death.  
  
“Next time he falls, you should just drag him, Rex!” someone yelled.  
  
Rex leaned out of the truck to look back at Noctis, seeming almost amused, almost _friendly_ as he said, “Try to keep up, kid.”  
  
Noctis sneered at him, but he followed as the truck started moving again, slowly crawling up the muddy path. He had no idea where they were going, no idea where they _were_ , and he would get his phone out to check his map if he wasn’t so sure that the hunters would smash it to pieces upon sight, and he couldn’t have that. That was why he had hidden it in the armoury at the first chance he had, it was the only way he had of contacting the others, after all, and if the men were to smash it up, then he would be on his own out here.  
  
Damn it, but where had they gone wrong? How had it ended up like _this_? Surely he and his friends were better at reading people than this?  
  
It had started out with the three hunters - Rex, Jesse and Lenny. They had seemed friendly enough, a little rough around the edges, maybe, but there was nothing wrong with that. And these hunters had requested for _their_ help specifically, had recognized them upon sight, said they had heard some good things from Dave, and that the reward for the hunt they were going on would be more than enough for them all to split.  
  
And they had taken the offer. Of course they had, they had been running low on cash again and hadn’t had any luck in finding some new work, so of _course_ they had accepted.  
  
Except it had been a setup. Rex, Jesse and Lenny had practically thrown the rest of them to far too many enemies, they had sent them into a _death trap_. Noctis hadn’t known, hadn’t realized it until the very last second, had just thought that it really _was_ going to be a difficult hunt. That was until arms had wrapped around him from behind, had held him in place, a hand covering his mouth with a damp cloth, and he had watched in horror as Jesse and Lenny hard barged into the others from behind, had taken them completely off guard, had shoved them over the railing and down into the field below.  
  
He had struggled as much as he could, but Rex was taller and stronger, broader even. He had held him easily enough, and whatever had been soaked into that cloth had made Noctis tired, made his body weak and uncooperative within moments. He had fallen into darkness, dragged away from his friends, and they had already been so caught up in fighting for their lives against the herd of dualhorns and they couldn’t do anything to help him.  
  
It was only supposed to have been a few dualhorns, not a whole damn _herd_ of them.  
  
And now Noctis had no idea if his friends were even alive, and he was stuck here, wherever _this_ was, with more hunters surrounding him, some of them downing alcohol like it was water, everyone laughing at him as they shone their flashlights in his face, cheering on as he was led up the bank with the rope tied around his neck. They even stepped in every now and then, to trip him over and kick at his ribs or his stomach, to stomp on his hands and his fingers.  
  
And it worried him, the idea that this entire thing might have been _planned_ and not just a spur of the moment thing. It had just been the four of them at first, in that one truck, but they had soon met up with other trucks along the way, parked in different places, recognizing Rex’s vehicle upon sight and driving along after them. Hunters had been _waiting_ for them to show up, and now they were all apparently heading towards a set destination.  
  
That idea seemed even more likely as they reached the top of the road, as they cleared the bank and were led into the ruins of old buildings. There were more trucks here, more hunters, clearly idling around and waiting for something, spotlights shining and lighting the place up so brightly that Noctis had to squint for a moment, nearly blinded by it.  
  
And Jesse, sat on the back of the truck leading Noctis around, stood up and held his bottle high, yelling out, “All hail the Prince of Lucis!”  
  
The hunters cheered and applauded in response. The general tone of it, however, was almost sarcastic, scathing even. It was a mockery of an entrance, and it made Noctis shiver.  
  
This was personal. Whatever this was about, whatever this was to them, it was personal. The way they stared at him with such disdain, the way they loved to see him hurt, it was obvious how much they hated him for being _him_. Like he had ever done anything to them, like he even knew who any of them were, the assholes.  
  
He contemplated getting his weapons out. He could grab a sword, a dagger, a gun, _anything_ , and he could cut the ropes loose, free himself. But Gladio, Ignis, Cor, they had always told him it was better to be tactful about these things, to take in his surroundings, to weigh his options, think of his chances.  
  
Though, right now, his chances weren’t looking good. They hadn’t looked good before, and they looked even worse now.  
  
As he was led further into the large circle of trucks, spotlights and hunters, he spared a glance over the faces surrounding him, trying to count them as quickly as he could, taking in just how many of them had weapons. He wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe there were around twenty of them, give or take, and it looked like every one of them had a weapon or two. If he managed to get free, would he be able to fight them all off? Especially when he was already so worn out, having had to walk and run behind the truck for the rest of the journey, and after all the hits he had taken so far?  
  
He almost regretted his actions in the truck. They had thought they could keep him tied up inside with them, Lenny and Jesse had thought they had a good hold on him, until he had woken up and had nearly broken Lenny’s nose with his elbow, had struggled with all of them, had the truck swerving on the road until Rex had finally pulled over, had dragged him out while he had kicked and yelled. He had fought as much as he could then, tried to pull away and escape, but he could only do so much when he was held down by the two of them and beaten by another, eventually having his neck wrapped with rope.  
  
It hadn’t been nice, that initial panic, when they had clambered back in the truck and had left him there lying on the road, dazed and staring up at the sky above. Then they had started driving again and he had been dragged along the concrete and, well, it was probably down to sheer adrenaline that he had managed to get back onto his feet and run before his neck could have been snapped.  
  
And now there were even more of them. And _if_ he managed to get past them all, if he managed to fight through them and make a run for it, then he would most likely have daemons to deal with instead. He had no idea where the nearest haven was, and he couldn’t check his map to see if it was worth the risk to try and escape.  
  
And they weren’t being attacked here, there didn’t seem to be any signs of daemon activity. He had to wonder if the reason they hadn’t been attacked yet was because of how many spotlights the hunters had on them, how many truck lights they had shining through the rain. It was probably more than enough light to keep the daemons at bay.  
  
What a wonderful decision, to choose between the hunters and the daemons. The best plan would probably be to wait until he could get a moment alone, so he could get his phone and try and contact the others, but there was no way of telling when such an opportunity would come up.  
  
The truck before him came to a stop, and Noctis paused, frowning in concern when he realized he was practically in the center of the circle of hunters.  
  
“Gentlemen,” Jesse called out and he jumped off the back of the truck, marching over to Noctis, circling him and staring down at him with hard eyes and a nasty smirk. “Our prince here has had a long journey. Let’s give him a warm welcome, shall we?”  
  
Noctis snorted despite himself.  
  
“Something funny?” Jesse stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. He stepped closer, practically breathing down on Noctis now, reeking of alcohol.  
  
Noctis shrugged and shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Got an itch, that’s all.”  
  
Jesse nodded, eyes hooded. Despite how much he had been drinking, he only seemed to be a little tipsy. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for that little stunt back on the road,” he said. “Because I haven’t. I _definitely_ haven’t.”  
  
“Please,” Noctis held his head high and met Jesse’s gaze. “I’ve met five year olds who sound more threatening than you. You’re trying too hard.”  
  
The other man smiled, looking around at the others, wiping at his mouth. “Oh really?” he muttered.  
  
One thing Noctis had learned today was that Jesse was kind of hotheaded, a bit of a loose cannon, which was why he shouldn’t have been so surprised when a fist was slamming into his gut. Noctis doubled over, more winded than anything else. Cheers erupted around them, loud and echoing, bouncing off the pain in Noctis’s head, and then he found himself lashing out, more pissed off than anything else.  
  
The hunters didn’t seem to mind. If anything, they seemed to find it amusing even as Noctis caught Jesse in the jaw with his own punch. It was hard to swing with his wrists tied together the way they were, but he did. He gave Jesse another hit, straight to his nose, then fisted his hands in the man’s jacket, brought his knee up as hard as he could, right into his stomach.  
  
Jesse nearly went down, but he came up swinging. “You fucking little shit,” he snapped, and he punched Noctis again, knuckles connecting straight into his cheekbone. They struggled in the mud, feet slipping, hunters laughing and yelling at them and cheering.  
  
He could get a weapon, he _should get a weapon_. Noctis flexed his fingers, prepared to pull _something_ out of the armoury, but—but these were _people_. They were _hunters_. Could he kill hunters? Should he? Gladio and Ignis would probably tell him yes, _yes_ , he _should_ kill them, he should _defend_ himself. As the only heir to the throne, it was vital that he stayed alive, no matter what the cost was.  
  
But these men...regardless of their maliciousness towards him, they were hunters. They may have been bastards, but they helped to keep the daemons at bay, and that, in itself, resulted in protecting innocent people.  
  
If he killed them, if he killed them _all_ , he would be dwindling the hunters’ numbers. And every man counted in the fight against the daemons.  
  
“Come on,” Jesse snarled. “Come on! Fucking tough guy, I’ll show you.” He managed to get behind Noctis, hand clenched in his hair painfully, arm locked around his torso and holding him in place. “Come on, Rex, start driving!”  
  
In front of them, Rex revved the truck’s engine. Then the wheels began to crawl forwards slightly, mud picking up, and the rope around Noctis’s neck started to pull.  
  
Horror and _fear_ ran through him, cold and shocking, and Noctis struggled against the hands that held him, hating how everyone was still laughing and cheering, _urging_ Rex on, telling him to do it, to drive the truck forwards while Jesse held him still.  
  
Noctis thrashed in Jesse’s arms, tried to dislodge him, tried to get closer to the truck as it crawled forwards a little more, but he couldn’t _move_. The rope attaching him to the vehicle was pulling, growing taut in front of him, and he could feel the strain starting in his neck, it pulled at his jaw, forced his head to tilt a little.  
  
Surely Jesse wouldn’t be able to hold him in place? Surely the truck would be too big, it would pull them forward eventually, right? Right? And surely they wouldn’t let this happen to him, they wouldn’t let him _die_ like this? No, _no_ , not after all the trouble they had gone through to get him here in the first place. They wouldn’t go through all of that just to kill him within five minutes of his arrival.  
  
He didn’t really want to wait to find out.  
  
He couldn’t get his hands free, not with Jesse’s arm wrapped around him the way it was, pinning his own arms to his body. The hand in his hair was still clenched tightly, stopping him from moving his head too much.  
  
But his feet were still free.  
  
So he swung his foot, backwards and upwards, right into Jesse’s groin. There was a pained grunt and the hold on him grew loose, and Noctis swung his head for Jesse’s face, wincing at the cracking noise he heard. Jesse let go of him completely, and Noctis fell forwards, back into the mud, scrambling along to the truck so that the rope would slacken.  
  
“Damn, Jesse, he got you good!” someone laughed.  
  
“Fuck, I think he broke my nose!” Jesse yelled. He sounded angry, and he sounded _close_. Noctis turned to see him marching towards him, blood gushing down his face, eyes wide and livid, and Noctis threw his hands up, prepared to lash out again, prepared to hit him or defend himself.  
  
Jesse blocked his punch and went straight for his head, grabbing it, shoving Noctis backwards until his skull collided with the edge of the truck, left him dazed. Then his hands were grabbing the loose rope, wrapping more of it around Noctis’s throat, pulling on it until he couldn’t _breathe_ any longer.  
  
And Noctis could only kick his legs out, useless since Jesse was practically sitting on him, pinning him down at an awkward position, and he tried hitting him with his hands, tried pulling at the rope or shoving at Jesse’s face, but everything _hurt_ and he couldn’t think past not being able to breathe and the loud chants surrounding them, the laughter, the constant streams of “ _Jeh-see, Jeh-see, Jeh-see, Jeh-see_ _—_ ”  
  
“That’s enough.”  
  
Rex was standing above them now, his gaze almost uncaring as Noctis continued to croak and fail to pull in air, but there was a warning in his tone. Jesse glared at Noctis, tightening the rope just a little further, until Noctis wondered if his neck would crush under the pressure of it, but then Jesse let him go, shoved him away harshly before he got to his feet.  
  
It wasn’t the reprieve he thought it would be. He only had enough time to unwrap the rope from his neck, leaving him with the tied bit he had from before, and then Rex was grabbing the rope, removing it from the end of the truck and using it to pull him along, as if it was a leash and he was a _dog_.  
  
“Everyone,” Rex called out, and he shoved Noctis, let him collapse in the mud, still coughing and struggling to get his breathing back under control, and he was back on his arms and knees, back in the circle of hunters, everyone’s eyes on him. “I give you the Prince of Lucis. Whatever shall we do with him?”  
  
Jesse made a spitting noise from somewhere behind Noctis. “Should fucking kill his ass,” he snarled.  
  
“In due time,” Rex answered, and his voice was almost pleasant as he addressed the rest of the hunters. “I need to get some things ready over in the warehouse, but I’ll leave him here with you boys while I do that, let you keep him busy in the meantime. Sound good?”  
  
There were some chuckles and nods and mutters. “Hell yeah,” someone said.  
  
“What should we do with him?” another called out.  
  
Rex patted a heavy hand on Noctis’s shoulder, squeezing it a little. “Whatever you do, don’t kill him.” He bent down a little, to look Noctis in the face, to smirk at him. “Keep my boys happy, yeah?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Noctis muttered.  
  
Rex merely chuckled, then he was straightening up, walking away as the hunters gathered closer, as they started sharing ideas on what they wanted to do. Noctis squeezed his eyes shut as the suggestions washed over him. They weren’t good suggestions, _none_ of it sounded good.  
  
He could only hope that his friends were okay. They were tough, they had been through a lot so far, but, when he had last seen them, they had been surrounded by so many dualhorns it hadn't looked good. And that had been hours ago, before the sun had set, before the night had settled in.  
  
And if he lost them, after all of this…  
  
_Please, guys. Please be okay._ _  
_ _  
_ _Please._  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
They ran as fast as they could, stumbling through the trees with very little care, having long abandoned any hopes of being quiet and inconspicuous. It was hard to be inconspicuous when the daemons always seemed to know where they were, even when they stood still. So, instead, they chose to hurry along and pray that they could simply escape in one piece.  
  
Gladio made a constant effort to keep the other two in front of him, where he could keep an eye on them, where he could make sure they wouldn’t suddenly get torn down by a daemon. Prompto sounded like he was close to hyperventilating, and Ignis was still limping a little, but neither one of them were showing signs of slowing down, clearly forcing themselves to keep going.  
  
But still, Gladio kept an eye on them both, ignoring his own burning lungs and the way his vest clung to him with sweat despite the cold night air. If either one of them fell, then he would be ready to guard them at a moment’s notice, he would drag them back up and make them carry on if he had to.  
  
As if that could make up for his recent failures. It couldn’t.  
  
_Damn it, Noct_.  
  
To think that, last night, they had all been sharing a few drinks with those so called hunters, they had been gathered around a table together and laughing and sharing stories. Rex and his companions had _seemed_ fine enough, there had been nothing about the situation that had sent any warning bells ringing in Gladio’s head, and yet here they were, Noctis taken away, _abducted_ , and the rest of them left running and fighting for their lives.  
  
He felt so very angry and _stupid_ that he had fallen for their tricks, for their lies. It had been far too easy to assume that _hunter_ meant _ally_.  
  
Ahead of them, something leapt out from behind a tree, directly in front of Ignis, a blur of movement so fast it was hard to keep track, but it looked like an imp or a goblin or _something_. Ignis stumbled, moved to the left, clearly trying to get out of the way, to keep his momentum, but then he was falling, going down, and the daemon was preparing to attack.  
  
Gladio had his sword in an instant, about to intervene, but Ignis was surging up again with an angered yell. His spear knocked the daemon back with a powerful blow, back into the darkness, and then he was carrying on, still limping, still in pain, but still stubborn.  
  
And they finally, _finally_ reached the haven, that familiar blue glow welcoming them like an old friend, and they all practically leapt up onto the top, clambering up the rocks before the daemons could do anything to stop them.  
  
They each collapsed once they were on safe ground, their breaths loud and heavy in the sudden silence. Gladio could have kissed the rocky surface he was kneeling on, would have done so if that wouldn’t simply be so disgusting.  
  
Prompto was lying on his back, spread out, staring up at the dark sky above them, his chest heaving. “I think my life just flashed before my eyes,” he wheezed.  
  
Gladio managed a smirk and shook his head. “Can’t have been anything too exciting.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Ignis was silent as he sat up, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, the screen lighting up his face. His cheeks were dirty and pale in the white glow, and there was a small bit of blood smudged near his eyebrow. He was letting his leg rest in front of him, stretched out and stiff and clearly bothering him.  
  
Gladio motioned towards the extended limb, despite the fact that Ignis wasn’t looking at him. “You want me to take a look at your leg for you?”  
  
Ignis didn’t even glance in his direction. “No, thank you,” he murmured, typing something on his phone.  
  
“Well, you should probably take a potion, just to be safe.”  
  
“In a moment,” Ignis said, then he was holding his phone up to his ear, face turning grim as he waited. After a moment of silence, he let his hand drop, lips pursed. “Noct isn’t answering his phone.”  
  
Gladio bit back a curse. “Those assholes probably took it from him,” he muttered. “It’d be one of the first things they’d get rid of.”  
  
“Which makes things far more difficult for us,” Ignis said. “Without having any direct contact with him, then who knows how long it could take to find him. I can’t track his GPS if his phone is gone.”  
  
Gladio ran a hand through his hair, fighting back his frustrations, still so pissed at those hunters playing them like that, and at himself for falling into their trap in the first place. He was supposed to _protect_ Noctis, to be aware of anything and anyone around him that could pose as a threat, that could be a danger. He wasn’t supposed to get him fucking kidnapped. “I suppose we could ask around,” he said, “see if anybody knows anything. Maybe Dave can help out.”  
  
“And just how long might that take?” Ignis fixed a strange look on him, eyes torn between anger and frustration and worry. “How long do you think we have?”  
  
Gladio raised his eyebrows. “Hey, if you’ve got any other suggestions, I’m all ears.”  
  
Ignis looked away.  
  
“What if…” Prompto said suddenly, voice a little quiet and strained, still on his back and facing the sky, “what if it’s too late? What if he’s already dead?”  
  
If it were any other time, Gladio would have smacked him upside the head, told him not to be so dramatic, so _pessimistic_ , except...except they really had no idea _what_ these guys were planning and what they were capable of. If Rex and his friends were willing to try and throw them all to their deaths just to get them out of the way, then Noctis could very well be in a lot of danger.  
  
“They’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to abduct Noct,” Ignis said. “I dare say they won’t kill him just yet, if that is indeed their intentions.”  
  
Prompto pushed himself up into a sitting position, turning to face them. “Well, why else would they take him?”  
  
“The empire does have a bounty on his head,” Ignis answered. “I don’t know of the reward, but I’m sure they would make it rather tantalising. That could be incentive enough for someone to take him.”  
  
“Well, whatever the case,” Gladio said, “we need to find him, and fast.”  
  
Ignis nodded. “Agreed.” He shifted and got to his feet, but there was no hiding the way his eyes squeezed a little, the way he grimaced, and his leg buckled underneath him. He would have fallen had he not quickly lowered himself back down to the ground.  
  
Prompto was grimacing with him, as if he felt his pain. “Yeah, I think you’re gonna need to take a potion first,” he said.  
  
Ignis made a frustrated noise. “Yes, it appears so,” he muttered. With one hand he pulled a spare potion from his jacket pocket and drank it down, and with his other hand he toyed with his phone again. He had it pressed to his ear once more, face grim, and his expression didn’t change even as they waited in the following silence. “Still no answer,” he sighed.  
  
Gladio nodded. He had expected as much.  
  
Prompto ran a hand over his face and let out a breath, looking over at the dark horizon. “So, how far away is the motel again?”  
  
Ignis’s face was stiff as he checked over his phone. “It seems we still have a couple of miles left to go.”  
  
Gladio shook his head, ran his hands through his hair. Really, as much as he would like to go back and change things, there was nothing they could do about any of it now except carry on. They had - stupidly, _foolishly_ \- accepted Rex’s offer to ride in the back of his truck to their destination for the hunt and had ended up leaving the Regalia behind at the motel. It had seemed like a good option, to go and come back as one team, and it had certainly put them in good fighting spirits.  
  
Now, he could see it for what it had been intended for - it was just another way to isolate them all, to further screw them over in this wonderful little trap that had been planned. After all, it would have been easy to escape the dualhorns and chase after the hunters if they’d had the Regalia.  
  
They couldn’t go back on their decisions now, so the only option left was to keep moving, to run back to the motel, back to the car, and then focus on finding Noctis.  
  
Gladio let out a sigh. “Okay, we ready to move?”  
  
Prompto nodded, then glanced at Ignis. “You got where the next haven is on the map?”  
  
“Yes, I know exactly which way we’re headed,” Ignis said, climbing back to his feet. This time, he had no trouble standing up, the potion already working to heal his injuries, and he crossed the haven, stood at the edge of it, in the direction they were soon to be running. “Whenever you two are ready.”  
  
“Got it,” Prompto jumped to his feet and had his gun out, holding it tightly, preparing to move.  
  
Gladio nodded, following after them. “Okay, let’s go.”  
  
They jumped down from the haven, and they continued running.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
To say that it was chaotic was more than an understatement. They were like animals, the lot of them. Beasts, savages, an angry mob. They were vicious and angry and spiteful, in a way that Noctis could never have anticipated, and he was more surprised than anything else, shocked that anyone was even _capable_ of such hatred.  
  
But why? _Why_ did they hate him so much? He couldn’t figure it out.  
  
And they fought over him like animals too, each desperate for a turn and then too selfish to pass him on to the next person. The alcohol didn’t seem to be helping either. Noctis had seen bottles getting passed around, clearly something strong, and it was making them more rowdy. He would have taken advantage over the fact that they were getting drunk, because drunk people were less coordinated, they were sloppy, they could be taken out more easily.  
  
But drunk people were also dangerous, their inhibitions were lowered, their judgements were screwed with. And, considering that he was outnumbered and that they were all heavily armed, it could be a very stupid thing to do.  
  
But he refused to give into them, he refused to let them tear him down, and so he fought back as much as he could, brawling with anyone who wanted to fight him, defending himself, getting back up no matter how many times he fell, shoving against them when they pinned him on the ground or against the sides of trucks.  
  
And just what the fuck was Rex doing in the ‘warehouse’, what did he need to _prepare_ for, what did he need to ‘get ready’? Why were they even _here_ in the first place?  
  
The buildings looked long abandoned and destroyed, most of them nothing but rubble, others only half concrete structures. There were a few intact buildings, however, and one of them was a larger building further off, near the forest line, and it _did_ look like a warehouse. Seeing it, seeing the lights coming out of the doorway, wondering what Rex was planning, it was sending shivers down his spine.  
  
“Keep still, you little—” the man in front of him bit out. He had a switchblade in his hand, and he was using it to carve something into Noctis’s flesh. There were two others holding Noctis from either side of him, gripping his arms and holding them away from his body so he couldn’t do anything. There was a fourth man, smoking and standing off to the side, keeping Noctis’s t-shirt lifted up while the blade was dragged in different directions along the skin above his waistband.  
  
The fourth man took the cigarette from between his lips, blew the smoke directly into Noctis’s face, before he said, “You’re fuckin’ up the lines, it’s gettin’ all jagged—”  
  
“Tell that to _him_ ,” the man with the switchblade said. “It’s not easy when he won’t quit moving.”  
  
“Hey, kid,” cigarette-guy said, and he came closer, blew more smoke at him, and then he was lowering the cigarette to Noctis’s arm, grinding it into his skin, and he grinned at Noctis’s small groan as his flesh burned, “quit your kickin’, yeah?”  
  
Since he couldn’t do anything else, Noctis turned and spat in his face.  
  
The man’s hand lashed out and he slapped Noctis across the cheek, so hard and fast that his head snapped the other way, the sting ran up and down his flesh, crawling along the side of his throat, and he shivered with it.  
  
The man with the switchblade was still carving into him. Noctis grit his teeth and still struggled, tried to pull his body away, even though it _hurt_ for the knife to jerk against his skin like that, but he wouldn’t just sit back and let them do this to him without a fight. They could burn and slap him a thousand times he would still fight.  
  
He wondered if he could have reasoned with these men beforehand, if he could have tried to be a little more diplomatic about it, persuade them that this sort of behaviour wasn’t necessary. But, somehow, something told him that they weren’t the kinds of men to listen to diplomacy, not when they seemed so _angry_ with him.  
  
The switchblade man looked up at him and glared. “You don’t keep still, I’ll shove this where the sun don’t shine.”  
  
“ _Fuck_ you,” Noctis snarled back and he kicked out, hit the man in the stomach, knocked him flat onto his back.  
  
“Hey, hey, _easy_ ,” the man on his left said, and then there was a hand in his hair, gripping tightly and jerking his head back. “Easy now, or else that knife’ll go straight to your pretty little face.”  
  
Noctis glared at him out of the corners of his eyes. “You guys talk big, but I don’t see you doing anything about it.”  
  
The man’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, _really_? Well, we’ll just—”  
  
The man with the switchblade snarled suddenly, coming back up into his space with a bottle, and Noctis had a split second to take in his angry expression before the glass was shattering across his face. He closed his eyes on instinct, flinching at the loud sound in his ears, and he was stumbling, pain shooting through his head and his cheek. The men had let go of him in shock, and he fell to the ground.  
  
His hands had been untied earlier, something about making it a ‘fair fight’ for when he was brawling with the others, and his fingers itched to reach into the armoury now, to grab a weapon, or _anything_ , to defend himself properly. They itched even as he landed on the ground, even as pain shot up his wrists when they connected with the mud. _Fight them, protect yourself,_ defend _yourself._  
  
But he couldn’t. Because every time he thought about taking a weapon to these men, all he could think about was that they were hunters. They were _people_. They protected innocent people.  
  
_Defend yourself, don’t kill them, defend yourself, don’t kill them_ _—_  
  
“What the fuck, man?” someone was shouting above him. “That glass nearly went in my eyes, are you fucking crazy?”  
  
“This little shit—” the switchblade man was breathless for some reason, heaving, his voice thick with rage, “—did you _see_ how he kicked me? Fuckin’ little—” hands were grabbing Noctis again, dragging him up slightly, and he squinted up at the man. “Lucian royalty, you’re all the _same_ , so far up your own damn asses—”  
  
“Come on, man, you’re drunk,” someone was saying, and there was a hand on the man’s shoulder, trying to pull him away.  
  
“Get off me! Pass me that bottle.”  
  
They might have been trying to encourage him to calm down - at least, that’s what it seemed like - but the hunters didn’t seem _too_ concerned, because they let him snatch a bottle out of another’s grasp, the top coming off, and then Noctis was flinching as some of the alcohol was splashing down onto his head and shoulders.  
  
And that wasn’t good, nothing good could _possibly_ follow that, so Noctis lashed out, smacked his hand up and knocked the bottle away, yanked himself out of the man’s grasp, and he scrambled backwards, _away_ from him.  
  
“Hey!” the man yelled. He was holding an object up. “Don’t move.”  
  
Everyone had grown still and quiet, including Noctis. He watched, frozen, trying to keep his breaths under control as the man held up a lighter, as he flipped it open and sparked it to life.  
  
“Don’t even _fucking_ move,” the man said. “Or, I swear, I’ll light your ass on fire right now.”  
  
He couldn’t, there wasn’t enough alcohol on him to set fire to. Right? It had only splashed in his hair and down his shoulders a little. Would that be enough to catch fire? Would it burn for long or would it die out easily? Could he roll in the wet mud to put the flames out, if it came to that?  
  
It didn’t seem right, that such a small flame, and at a distance away, could leave him so tense, almost paralyzed with uncertainty.  
  
Gods, he wished it was raining again.  
  
“Come here,” the man said. He kept the lighter burning, and he used his free hand to crook a finger. “Crawl towards me, doggy, or you’ll burn.”  
  
Noctis clenched his teeth together, gave him a disgusted look. He didn’t want to, the very idea made him sick, and he _hated_ that the other hunters were smiling and nodding, apparently _approving_ of this new idea. Were they stupid or something? Hadn’t Rex said _not_ to kill him? Surely setting him on fucking _fire_ would kill him, the morons.  
  
And did they think _he_ was that stupid? Did they honestly think he would crawl towards that flame to avoid getting burned, when that had obviously been the man’s original intentions?  
  
But—  
  
If he got close enough, then he could knock the lighter away and knock the smug look off that guy’s face.  
  
“Come here,” the man said. “Crawl like the dog you are.”  
  
Noctis fought back the glare he wanted to give him and moved, crawling towards him on his hands and knees. He ignored how his cheeks felt like they were burning already, humiliation spreading through him, and he ignored the snickers he could hear, the mutterings, the comments they threw his way. It was all unoriginal, predictable things anyway, and ‘little bitch’ was thrown out _more_ than a few times.  
  
He almost rolled his eyes at them.  
  
But he crawled, he fought back his winces of disgust as his hands and knees squelched and stuck in the mud, and he didn’t stop until he was kneeling in front of the other man, staring up at him blankly.  
  
The man grinned. “Good boy,” he said, his face twisted with an ugly, self-satisfied smirk, and he let the flame die away, closed the lighter.  
  
The man made to grab him, but Noctis surged up, tackling him around the waist and knocking him down to the ground. He slammed his fist into the man’s face, then grabbed the lighter, throwing it off to the side with a spark of satisfaction, watching as it landed, sliding along under someone’s truck.  
  
Hopefully the guy would have to crawl around looking for it.  
  
“You little _bitch_ ,” the man was hissing, and he was hauling Noctis up, throwing him up against the door of one of the trucks so hard that the window smashed beneath his back.  
  
The hunters were cheering again. Apparently, they found something incredibly entertaining about Noctis trying to defend himself, they even found it funny when he beat one of their own. Where the logic in that was, he wasn’t sure, but he went with it, threw his own punches, somewhat relieved that he was back to a simple brawl even if he hated the way it made his knuckles sting and bleed.  
  
_Defend yourself, don’t kill them, defend yourself, don’t_ _—_  
  
The ropes around his wrists were gone, but the one around his neck wasn’t. Someone was suddenly grabbing the end of it and he was yanked backwards, choking at the pressure on his throat. He was pulled down into the mud, his breath rushing out of him, and Rex’s face was hovering above him.  
  
“Kill him, Rex!” the switchblade guy yelled. His face was a bloody mess, the skin around his eyes already swelling up. “Kill him right now!”  
  
Rex raised his eyebrows. “Like I said, in due time. This isn’t just about _your_ revenge. Justice will be delivered for _everyone_ here, not just you.”  
  
Noctis blinked and stared at sky above him. Justice. Revenge. Revenge for _what_? What had he done?  
  
_Lucian royalty_. The man had said something about Lucian royalty, which meant this was about his _family_ , maybe even his _dad_.  
  
He didn’t have enough time to think about it. Rex was smirking down at him again, saying something like “Come along, boy”, before he was dragging Noctis along, pulling him by the rope. Noctis gripped at it, feeling so very _sick_ of this bullshit, and he got to his feet just in time to be shoved into the warehouse, stumbling over crates and falling to the concrete floor.  
  
“Get him in the cuffs, _now_ ,” Rex barked out.  
  
People were grabbing him - Jesse and Lenny - and were dragging him across the warehouse no matter how much he writhed and protested and kicked out. He was turned around, facing the main doors, and his wrists were lifted up, were fastened in the cuffs attached to metal support pillars on either side of him, at enough of a stretch that he could feel the beginnings of a slight strain in his shoulders.  
  
Noctis stared, tugging at them, but the metal bit into his skin. They were fastened to the pillars with thick screws and metal plates, feeling more than sturdy, and he was now left stuck in place, _defenseless_ , and they were watching him with almost predatory gazes.  
  
He fought back the disappointed feeling building up in his chest, the twinge of dread. Even after everything that had gone on outside, this was clearly _far_ from over.  
  
Jesse was smirking, even though it was kind of messed up with his bruised face and swollen nose. “That’s a good look for you,” he said.  
  
Noctis shot him a glare. “Sorry, Jesse, you’re not my type.”  
  
Jesse’s eyes narrowed, growing hard, but Rex held up a hand, keeping the other man silent and still. “He’s not going anywhere now,” Rex said. “You’ll get to have your fun with him, don’t worry.”  
  
“Can’t wait,” Jesse said.  
  
Noctis swallowed, trying to keep his face blank, trying to stop his eyes from showing how nervous he was beginning to feel, and he couldn’t help but tense as Rex stepped closer, as he pulled a rather large knife out from his belt, waving it slowly in the air.  
  
“Do you know why you’re here?” Rex asked quietly.  
  
Noctis ignored the way his heart was jackhammering in his chest and raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing it’s not because of my charming personality.”  
  
“Funny,” Rex smirked, but his eyes were changing, there was something a lot more predatory in his gaze. He pressed the tip of the blade to Noctis’s throat, just under his jaw. It was barely even touching his skin and yet there were cold shivers running down his spine from it. “I’ll ask again, _Your Highness_ ,” Rex said. “Any idea why you’re here?”  
  
Fuck him. Noctis wasn’t going to play these games. He had already been a punching bag for them all, a chew toy, he _wasn’t_ going to give Rex the satisfaction. “You’re lonely and you needed the company.”  
  
A fist slammed into his stomach. Noctis gritted his teeth together, his body trying to double over, the cuffs on his wrists holding him up so that he couldn’t. He tried to fight back the pain, but he couldn’t stop himself from gasping.  
  
“Don’t make me get angry,” Rex said. “You really don’t want that.”  
  
Noctis managed to give him an amused grin, still a little breathless. “You sound like a bad action movie,” he breathed out, glaring up at him. “And how the hell am I supposed to know what stupid reason you’ve brought me here for? I don’t give a shit about whatever your problem is.”  
  
Rex stared at him in silence, toying with the blade in his hands. Then he glanced over at Jesse, gave him the slightest nod.  
  
And Jesse was coming closer, his smile far too eager as he took hold of Noctis’s right wrist. He held it in place with one hand, while his other toyed with Noctis’s index finger, and all the while he had that horrible expression on his face, eyes never breaking contact even as he started to bend the digit.  
  
Noctis couldn’t help it, his breathing picked up, something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach, making him nauseous and cold, despite the fact that he was sweating. He tried to squirm his hand away, but he couldn’t move it, he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_.  
  
Then Jesse _pulled_. Noctis felt it through his entire hand, felt the _snap_. He let his head fall forward and squeezed his eyes shut, but he kept his jaw clenched, nearly bit off his tongue, only letting himself grunt instead of scream.  
  
“So,” Rex said, voice light and conversational, “why are you here?”  
  
Noctis raised his head to look at him, blinking back the sweat dripping into his eyes. He didn’t answer.  
  
Jesse grabbed his middle finger and yanked on it. Again, _snap_ , pain shooting up and down his finger, down his hand, his wrist. Noctis couldn’t help the cry that escaped him, loud and echoing around them, and he hated himself for it.  
  
_Everything you’ve been through, every injury you’ve ever had, and you’re gonna cry over a few broken fingers?_  
  
Still, he would like for that hand to not become completely useless to him, and so he said, “Revenge. You guys want revenge.”  
  
Rex nodded. “That’s right. And who do we want revenge on?”  
  
Noctis let out a breath. “On me? My dad. My family.”  
  
“And _why_ do we want revenge?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Noctis mumbled, and he really _didn’t_ , he had no idea why they were so angry. Jesse was reaching for his third finger as if that wasn’t an acceptable answer, and Noctis flinched, tensed, and he said, “No, really, I don’t _know_ , so why don’t you just tell me? I’m not a fucking psychic.”  
  
Rex shook his head at Jesse, and then stepped closer to Noctis. “It’s simple,” he said. “We want revenge because of this _war_ you all shoved in our faces. Everyone you’ve seen here, me, Jesse, Lenny, those men out there…” the tip of his knife was pressing into Noctis’s stomach, slowly dragging upwards, not hard enough to slice through his t-shirt, but enough for him to still feel it as it inched its way up to his jaw again. “We’ve all lost things because of your family. Our homes, our friends, our families. Innocent people are _dead_ now because of your war with the Niffs.”  
  
Rex stepped closer, up in his personal space, the knife crawling up along Noctis’s cheek until the tip was near his eye. “Children are dead,” Rex murmured. “Can you imagine that? Losing a kid to someone else’s war? And then your old man had the fucking _gall_ to abandon everyone else, to protect his precious Insomnia while everyone else was still bleeding for him, whether they wanted to or not.”  
  
Noctis pressed his lips together, kept his eyes downcast, because what could he say? What could he _possibly_ say or do to make any of that right?  
  
“So while you were all lounging away in your castle—”  
  
“It wasn’t like that,” Noctis murmured. He raised his eyes to meet Rex’s again, trying not to flinch at how close the tip of the blade still was. He could feel his eyelashes brushing against it, it was so close. “My dad didn’t just ‘ _lounge_ away’, he gave his life for his kingdom—”  
  
“Oh,” Rex out a laugh, “he gave his _life_. Yeah, _after_ his whole peace treaty with Niflheim went to shit.”  
  
Noctis almost clenched his hands out of anger, out of bitterness, but he didn’t dare move the fingers on his right hand. They were already throbbing, feeling hot and thick and _sore_. The pain almost helped to ground him, except now it mostly just _reminded_ him of why he was here. “You don’t understand,” he bit out. “He knew what he was doing, he _knew_ _—_ ”  
  
He stopped himself from continuing. Because, yeah, his dad had _known_. He had known Niflheim’s peace treaty was a load of shit, and he had practically sacrificed the lives of _his own people_.  
  
And for what? For _Noctis_?  
  
And now people were dead because of him. People always seemed to _die_ for him, for his dad, his family. They were a cursed family, and they cursed anyone who came into contact with them. Death followed them like it was a _part_ of them, like it lurked in their shadows, and, sooner or later, everyone they touched fell victim to it.  
  
And these men, these hunters...they had been touched by that curse, hadn’t they? They had lost people because of _them_ , they’d had their lives broken apart _because of them_.  
  
Hell, maybe Noctis _did_ deserve to be chained up like this after all.  
  
“Yeah, he knew what he was doing, alright,” Rex was saying. “Your daddy, and your whole fucking family, dragging everyone into this war of yours, ignoring the little people who _burn_ as a consequence. You only ever think of yourselves, right?”  
  
“So your answer is to capture me like this?” Noctis muttered. He hated how he suddenly felt so small and pathetic in front of them. It was almost humiliating, the way they stared down at him with their smirks and satisfied eyes. “You’re gonna punish me for stuff my dad did? Stuff I had no part of?”  
  
“We’re giving all those men out there the justice they deserve,” Rex answered. “And come off it. Your dad is dead, that means you’re the king next. Another Lucian king that’ll lead us into a shit load of trouble and will only save his own skin in the end. I wouldn’t be surprised if people have already died because of you.”  
  
Noctis pressed his lips together, shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Because it was true, wasn’t it? It was _true_.  
  
Rex wasn’t listening anyway, was merely smiling at him. “Better to get rid of you _now_ before any more damage can be done.”  
  
It was almost easy to agree with him. With the mental images of dead innocent people, innocent _children_ , flashing through his head, it all seemed so justified. It would be far too easy to give in to them, to let them do whatever they wanted and then discard him after, get it over with already.  
  
But—  
  
But he was going to _fix_ things. He was going to get the Crystal back and reclaim his throne and defeat Niflheim, he was going to get justice for _all_ of them.  
  
Wasn’t he?  
  
“Time to get started?” Jesse spoke up suddenly, and his voice was _far_ too eager, his grin was far too malicious as he, once more, began to toy with Noctis’s third finger.  
  
Rex looked between them both, his eyebrows raised, and nodded. “Sure, no time like the present.”  
  
Jesse snapped his third finger.  
  
Noctis cried out and thrashed against the chains, pulling at them, ignoring how the metal bit and cut into his flesh, made them slick with blood. He couldn’t let them do this, he _wouldn’t_. Everyone was counting on his survival, he had to keep going for _them_ if not for himself.  
  
But the chains wouldn’t budge, they were stuck fast and the others only watched on in amusement. If only he could warp out of them, if only he had enough leverage to swing a dagger at one of them, but, no, he was stuck.  
  
If only he had used a weapon earlier. If only he had made a run for it.  
  
The daemons seemed like a far better option at this point.  
  
“Don’t strain yourself,” Jesse chuckled.  
  
He still had his feet free, and so he used them. He kicked Jesse in the knee, causing him to fall down, his face at the perfect height for Noctis to slam his sneaker into it, and he almost winced at the further crunching sound under his foot.  
  
If he could just take them out, if he could take them all out and get _away_ _—_  
  
“Grab him!” Jesse yelled. “That’s fucking _it_.”  
  
Rex and Lenny grabbed his right leg, holding it still and up in the air, both of them at either end of his extended limb. Noctis tried to thrash, tried to dislodge them, but Lenny’s elbow came up to his face, smacked him straight in the nose, clearly payback for when they were in the truck, and Noctis grunted, distracted by the blow.  
  
Jesse was coming at him from the side, moving too fast, but Noctis already knew what was happening, could only watch and try to move out of the way. But Jesse’s foot was coming down onto his leg, on his calf, his boot connecting harshly, and Noctis felt and _heard_ the snap, and he was screaming before he could stop himself.  
  
“There,” Jesse said, a little smugly, “that should keep him a little under control.”  
  
They let go of his leg. Noctis almost collapsed, _would_ have if it wasn’t for the chains holding him up. He grit his teeth and cursed, hating himself for his weakness, that there were tears beginning to sting his eyes, and he was unable to fight back a groan at the pain shooting up and down his leg. He felt sick with it, the memory of that _sound_ repeating in his head over and over, and he was cold and sweating at the same time, shivering even as his skin grew damp.  
  
He let his head hang, let it rest against his shoulder, closed his eyes. If only they hadn’t _trusted_ these guys. If only he had acted quicker, if only he had saved his friends, if only he had been smarter about this entire thing.  
  
If only.  
  
“Time to let the boys in?” someone said. Jesse or Lenny, either one. Noctis couldn’t really focus past the thumping of his heartbeat, loud and roaring in his ears.  
  
“Not yet,” Rex said. He was standing in front of Noctis now, that knife tapping against his cheek. Noctis couldn't bring himself to pull away. “I want some fun with him first.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out any spelling mistakes/grammar issues/inconsistencies/etc!
> 
> You can find me at [tumblr](https://ivorydice.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It shouldn't take too long to write/updates won't be too long" ahahahahahahaha. I clearly have no concept of time. Have you noticed that yet lol?
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments/kudos/etc, the response to the first chapter was awesome and I love you :)
> 
> I feel like this chapter is a hot mess, so I might actually be coming back to this to edit it. Or not. Who knows lol.
> 
> (I also feel like I should warn that this chapter mentions the death of a child, but it's only brief. Wasn't sure if that would be upsetting to anyone or not.)
> 
> Blehh, I don't know, enjoy? XD

  
  
“You should probably try to get some sleep.”  
  
Prompto glared up at him, feeling almost frustrated enough to actually hit Gladio for the suggestion, but he was still far too shaky to act on any such urges, his stomach was twisting around uncomfortably, his nerves jittery. He shook his head and remained sat on the edge of the motel bed, resting his elbows on his knees, chewing the edge of his thumb as he watched Ignis pace by the window.  
  
He _was_ tired, he was beyond exhausted at this point, both from fighting off the dualhorns and running for miles to escape the daemons, to reach the car again, but there was no way he could even _hope_ to sleep while Noctis was still missing. How could he sleep, knowing those men could very well be hurting his friend? How could he sleep knowing that Noctis could be going through something awful right now?  
  
“Yes, I understand that it’s late,” Ignis was saying into his phone. He looked just as exhausted, just as weary, but he was still pacing back and forth, already onto his third energy drink. His voice was tense, a little sharp when he said, “I’d appreciate it if you can get any information, anything at all. Yes.”  
  
Prompto hung his head, bounced his leg up and down, chewed harder on his thumb. What if they couldn’t find Noctis in time? What if he really _was_ dead? What would they do? What would _he_ do?  
  
He was _so tired_ , it was like his body was almost begging him to lay back and close his eyes for a while, but—no, he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_.  
  
“I mean it,” Gladio said softly. His hand reached out, fell onto Prompto’s shoulder. “Even if it’s just for ten minutes. Recharge your batteries a little. We’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”  
  
Prompto winced and shook his head again. It was _so_ tempting, and he felt horribly guilty for that. Was Noctis sleeping, wherever he was right now? Would he mind if Prompto slept, even if it was just for a moment?  
  
“Yes, thank you,” Ignis said suddenly, and he hung up, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let his phone fall away, held in a tight grip at his side.  
  
Prompto almost didn’t want to ask. “Well?”  
  
“Well,” Ignis echoed, “Dave knows _of_ Rex and his companions, although he swears he spoke nothing of Noctis to any of them. He has confirmed what we already know, that they’re a more shady bunch. Apparently they’re good at hunting and getting jobs done, and that’s the _only_ reason Dave will have any association with them.” He turned and glanced between Prompto and Gladio, his eyes more than frustrated. “Other than that, he wants nothing to do with them. He says they’re nothing but trouble.”  
  
Gladio grunted. “Yeah, we got that already. Any idea where we can find them?”  
  
“None,” Ignis answered, his face grim. “There are any number of places across this entire country where they might be, but it could take us weeks to search them all.”  
  
Prompto ran a hand over his eyes, feeling something within him sag, his shoulders feeling heavier, his chest feeling more constricted. “By that time, it’ll probably be too late.”  
  
“I told you,” Ignis said, but his eyes were kind and his voice was softer, “that might not necessarily be their intentions.”  
  
Prompto nodded. He was right, of course, Rex and his friends might keep Noctis alive for a while, for whatever plans they had in store, but that still didn’t do anything to settle the cold anxiety running through his entire body. He shivered with it, ran a hand up and down his arm.  
  
“Sleep for a little while,” Ignis told him. “I’m going to call Cor, see if I can gather any intel from him.”  
  
“Cindy might also know something,” Gladio suggested. “She’s buddies with a few hunters. Maybe she knows a guy who knows a guy.”  
  
Ignis nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He glanced at Prompto, giving him a pointed look. “Get some rest.”  
  
It felt wrong, he felt like an asshole, like the worst person in the world as he lay back on the bed, as he let his head fall down onto the pillows, but his body was sore and aching, and he was so _exhausted_. Surely he wouldn’t be any help to anyone if he was so worn out, so a little sleep might fix that, right?  
  
So maybe five minutes wouldn’t hurt.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that Noctis would forgive him for his moment of weakness.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
Despite everything, Noctis still felt so damn surprised at just how much these guys actually _enjoyed_ hurting him. Of course, he had seen it already, they had made no efforts to hide their amusement, but it was still so shocking, that people like that actually _existed_ in the real world.  
  
And yet here they were, laughing amongst each other and making comments as they took turns dragging the knife along his torso, digging the tip of the blade in deeper or kicking at him if he didn’t make the noises they wanted him to make.  
  
He wanted to lash out at them, wanted to fight back again like he had before, but his body was weak and sore. His arms felt stiff, locked into place with the cuffs holding him up, and it was an awkward position. It was hard to slump down, it hurt if he just let the cuffs take all of his weight, but then he couldn’t stand up properly either, his broken leg hurting far too much with even the slightest movement. He was left mostly holding himself up with one leg, trying not to slump down too much, shifting carefully whenever a position became too uncomfortable.  
  
He wished he could lie down somewhere. If they had attached him to a bed or something, anything horizontal, then it would be easier to block it all out. He could have passed out already, he could have slipped away from them.  
  
But it was so hard to slip away when he was the focus of their attention. They took turns, passing weapons and suggestions around as if it was a casual conversation. Some liked to use the knife on him, down his chest and stomach, along his back, on his arms. Never deep enough to cause serious damage, never deep enough for him to bleed out, but enough to hurt, enough for him to grimace at the feeling of his flesh splitting open and warm blood pouring out along his skin.  
  
“You can’t do this,” he managed to gasp out. “It’s wrong.”  
  
“It’s wrong,” Jesse imitated, twisting his face into an ugly sneer. He gestured to the men in the warehouse, and some of them saluted back with their bottles. “Tell that to these guys, tell that to everyone who lost homes and family because of daddy dearest.”  
  
“Tell that to my wife!” one of the men in the back yelled. “Tell that to her family, to her parents. Oh _wait_ _—_ ” he broke off, coming closer, “you _can’t_ , because they’re _dead_. They died when their village was set on fire by those fucking Niffs.”  
  
Noctis kept his eyes lowered, feeling angry and confused and _guilty_. He forced out a snort, turning his face away as he muttered, “Someone actually _married_ you?”  
  
He shouldn’t have. It was disrespectful, it was _awful_ , to mock someone in the face of their grief, but, damn it, they couldn’t _do_ this.  
  
A hand gripped his hair, another gripped his face, fingers digging into his jaw, and he was forced to look at the man again, wincing when _every_ injury seemed to flare up in protest. “It wasn’t my fault,” he forced out. “That was _Niflheim_ , take it up with _them_.”  
  
“It takes two to make war,” the man snapped back.  
  
Noctis shook his head.  
  
“I think you should apologize,” Rex called out. “For the crimes your family has committed.”  
  
That was such bullshit, what _crimes_ had they committed, what crimes had _he_ committed? As far as he knew, it was Niflheim that had been the worst party in this war, attacking villages, killing innocent people. Tenebrae was enough proof of that. They had come for him and his father, had tried to kill a child while he was seeking healing, and they had murdered a queen in her own home, taken her children as captives.  
  
But, again, him and his father. Innocent people had died that day, twelve years ago. Luna’s mother had died, Luna herself had been taken in by the empire, Ravus too. And it was all because of _him_ , because _he_ had been there to get help for his injuries. He had been the target that day, and everyone had suffered because of him.  
  
Noctis squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his good hand. Lucis, his _father_ , had only ever tried to do the best in this war. His father had tried to keep his people safe, had tried to fight Niflheim to the best of his ability, had tried to stop their ferocity.  
  
But, at the end of the day, there was no excuse for war, was there? There was no excuse for innocent people dying.  
  
And all because of _them_ , his family.  
  
They cut into him again, large gashes down his back that had him crying out despite his best efforts to keep quiet, and his face burned with humiliation as the men stared him down and laughed at him, their grins wide and amused. How could they find it _funny_? How could they laugh at the fact that they were hurting another person?  
  
Would _he_ laugh? If he had Niffs in front of him, if he had that bastard emperor chained up and at his mercy? Would he find it funny to hurt Iedolas, to punish him for the death of his dad, for the death of Gladio’s dad, for _so many people_ who had died that day in Insomnia?  
  
He liked to think that he wouldn’t, but the idea that he _could_ , that he could be just like these men, was almost sickening.  
  
“I want you to apologise to these men. Say you’re sorry.”  
  
They liked it when, in the midst of struggling in the cuffs - trying to get away from that knife when it was pointed towards his face - he dislocated his shoulder. They liked it so much, they popped it back into place, only to dislocate it again and fix it once more.  
  
And some liked to use the metal pipe that had been laying around the warehouse with whatever other junk surrounded them. They swung it at his ribs mostly, and Noctis was sure he heard some of the bones crack. It was a little hard to tell physically when everything was blurring into one large pain.  
  
“You think you’re the only ones who’ve lost someone?” Noctis choked out. He was dizzy with pain, and maybe with blood loss, but he tried to hold himself up, using the chains as support. “You think you’re the only ones hurting and grieving?”  
  
“The kid thinks he knows grief,” someone snorted.  
  
Noctis glared in his direction. “You think you’re the only one who does? I’ve lost my dad and my home, my friends have lost their families and their homes, there are refugees in Lestallum—”  
  
“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Jesse shot back.  
  
Noctis swallowed. “You don’t see any of them coming to lynch me, do you? You don’t see them dragging me through the streets.”  
  
“Nah,” Jesse grinned, “but I’ll bet they’ve _wanted_ to.”  
  
His first instinct was to refuse, to tell them _no_ , there was no way, but then—then he thought back to the fight with Titan, to Gladio’s anger, grabbing him by the shirt and hauling him close, yelling in his face. He had apologised afterwards, yeah, but was that it? Did his friends feel frustrated towards him, angry at what his family had done to them?  
  
“You need me,” he mumbled, and he flinched back at the laughter that got him, from _all_ of them.  
  
He was supposed to be a king, but he didn’t feel very kingly right now. His dad had always made it look so easy, like his position as king made him untouchable. Noctis could only wish to seem that strong.  
  
“And _how_ do we need you?” Jesse was chuckling.  
  
“Because I’m going to destroy Niflheim,” he answered, and it felt stupid even as he said it. He knew it wasn’t very convincing when he was chained up like this, leaking blood onto the ground below him, slashed up and broken into pieces. “They’ve taken the Crystal—”  
  
“Oooh, the _magical_ Crystal,” Jesse said with a smirk. “Please, you guys act like only you _kings_ can use that thing, but I bet any asshole could use it. I say let the Niffs have it if they want it so much.” There were a few nods and mutters of agreement. “That’s what they were attacking for this whole time, right? I heard they wanted that thing, so let them have it, let this be over with already.”  
  
He stepped closer to Noctis then, toying with the metal pipe in his hands. “Makes me wonder,” Jesse said. “You Lucian kings are supposed to be these magical people, right? So why haven’t you done anything? Hmm?”  
  
Because he had been trying to spare them. It would have been so easy, back when they were brawling outside, when things were so much _simpler_. It would have been easy to get his weapons out and unleash his powers on them all, cut them down like he should have done.  
  
But he had been trying to do the right thing, he had been trying to _spare_ them, because, at the end of the day, they were people.  
  
And now he was stuck. He couldn’t warp away, not with his wrists chained up like they were, and he had no hopes of getting a weapon out, not with how exhausted he was, pain clouding his senses.  
  
“Come on, _Your Majesty_ ,” someone said. “Show us some magic tricks.”  
  
Noctis looked away. “Go fuck yourself.”  
  
“Now, now,” Rex called out. “There’s no need for that. We’re just delivering justice after all—”  
  
“This isn’t justice,” Noctis said, tugging on his cuffs, wincing. They were wet, metal digging into his skin and slipping a little. “You’re being _selfish_ , there’s a difference. You think this will bring back the dead? You think your families would _want_ this, you think they would be so proud? You—”  
  
Lenny was the one who shot up, getting right into his face, pulling something out of his chest pocket and showing it to him.  
  
A photograph. He recognized a younger Lenny in the picture, holding a girl in his arms, a small thing with blonde pigtails and a gapped tooth smile.  
  
“My little sister,” Lenny murmured. “She was _six_. She died when the Niffs destroyed our home.”  
  
There was a date on the bottom, showing the photograph had been taken around thirty years ago. Probably, Noctis mused, when his grandfather had decided to pull the wall back to protect Insomnia only, leaving everyone else at the mercy of Niflheim.  
  
“Don’t you _dare_ tell me what she would have wanted,” Lenny hissed into his ear, but Noctis could only focus on that picture, on that small face, his eyes blurring, _burning_.  
  
He could argue that he hadn’t even been _born_ then, that he’d had nothing to do with it, but—  
  
But it didn’t matter. He was Lucian royalty, and Lucian royalty exposed their people to war, failed to protect them when they needed them the most. Noctis wasn’t any different. He couldn’t protect them all the way he wanted to, he couldn’t help them. Instead, he was left trailing around the country trying to formulate _some_ sort of plan to take down the empire.  
  
While everyone else was suffering, trying to pick up the pieces of their lives, destroyed because their monarch had failed them, past and current.  
  
He thought of all the people who must have died, the _children_ who had died in this war his family had waged for years, this war _he_ was continuing just by being alive, and he thought, yeah, maybe he deserved this.  
  
Maybe these hunters _were_ doing everyone a favour after all.  
  
He almost hated how easy it was to give in, but it was so very hard to fight when the pain washed over him, when he was drowning in it, the crushing blame weighing him down.  
  
“Are you going to apologise? Rex said. “You going to say sorry for his dead sister? For so many sisters and brothers? Sons and daughters, wives and husbands?”  
  
Noctis closed his eyes and turned away. He doubted saying sorry would make them stop. It wouldn’t make them feel any better.  
  
Clearly only _one_ thing would make them feel better at this point.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
No matter how many times they hit him, sliced him, toyed with him, the _worst_ thing was how they wouldn’t let him sleep, wouldn’t let him pass out. Whenever his eyes closed and his head hung, they slapped him awake, dug fingers into wounds or pressed on his broken ribs.  
  
Even worse, how they did it all night, how they continued even when the sun came up outside. It wasn’t his first time pulling an all-nighter, especially with how they lived now, but being denied unconsciousness when he felt so fucking _horrible_ …  
  
And didn’t these guys ever sleep? Or were they taking shifts somewhere, some getting rest so they could return and beat him some more, taking over for those who had stayed up to beat him?  
  
But something seemed to change. Noctis wasn’t sure what, it was hard to think past the fuzziness in his head, hard to concentrate, hard to hear past the ringing in his ears, but he saw Lenny walk into the warehouse, face pinched a little, and he was murmuring something to Rex, “—move out—checked—not there—horns—”  
  
And then people were walking around, coming and going, seemingly in a slight rush as they started banging things around. No one even touched Noctis, letting him hang there, leaving him be while they carried on.  
  
He didn’t know if he should be grateful for the moment of peace, or if it was a sign that worse things were to come.  
  
A flash in his face. Noctis winced and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning.  
  
“Sorry,” Rex said, but he didn’t sound it.  
  
There was another flash, and Noctis managed to peel his eyes open enough to take in the sight of the camera in the man’s hands. He tried to turn his head away, but a fresh spark of pain made him pause. His cheek was aching, it felt too warm, dried blood cracking uncomfortably along his skin. Rex had been the only one to hit his face, his knuckles driving into his cheek until his skin had split.  
  
Another flash. Noctis swallowed. “Keepin’...mementos?”  
  
“Hmm?” Rex grunted. “Nah, this is for those imperial dicks.” He moved around Noctis, peeling his t-shirt up off his back and taking another picture. Why they had bothered to keep the shirt on him was beyond Noctis. It only clung to his body now, sticking to the knife wounds and pulling at them whenever it moved. “You see,” Rex continued, “we were originally gonna take a bounty on you. Seems like the Niffs will pay a hefty price for your head.”  
  
Rex was taking more pictures, coming around to the front to get close ups of his face, his throat, of his wrists and fingers. “But why should the Niffs get to have all the fun?” Rex muttered. “Why should _they_ get to decide what happens to you when, yeah, they’re just as much a part of this war as you are?” He lifted Noctis’s t-shirt again, taking a few shots of his chest. “So we figured we get to play, we get to enact our justice, and then we deliver you to Niflheim afterwards, collect our reward. Two birds, one stone, you know?”  
  
Noctis almost wanted to laugh. “Doesn’t explain—” he swallowed and winced, “—pictures.”  
  
“They’d need confirmation that it was you.” Rex grinned at him, shrugging. “And I figured they’d like it if they got to see how much you suffered.”  
  
There was something niggling at him about that statement, something he knew he should be focusing on, but he was just so _tired_ , he felt nauseous, sick with pain.  
  
He just wanted it to be over.  
  
They must have let him finally pass out, as, when he next opened his eyes, he was suddenly sitting down, leaning back against a wall, his wrists no longer chained up. There were fewer men now, their numbers had been dwindling for some time, and those who remained were walking back and forth, chattering amongst themselves, creating some sort of clamour outside.  
  
Noctis struggled to pull his head up, to see what they were doing, but the world was spinning, his head was ringing, and his body was slow, made of lead, made of stone. He flexed his fingers, his _good_ fingers on his left hand, wondering if he should pull a dagger out now, fight now—  
  
But he couldn’t. He had lost his chance, and now he was well and truly screwed.  
  
There were hands on him suddenly, under his armpits, pulling him up as if he was a child, and Noctis couldn’t help the choked groan. He tried to struggle out of the hold, but whoever it was had a strong grip and merely chuckled at his efforts.  
  
It was Rex, of course it was. He looked amused, and he wasn’t letting go. Noctis was practically dragged along the warehouse until he was backed up against something solid, and he was sat down on the edge of it. He would have lost his balance if it wasn’t for the hands holding onto him. “Well then,” Rex said, “this is it for you.”  
  
“It?” Noctis murmured. He stared up at Rex’s blurry, wobbly face, gripping at his jacket with his left hand for balance. “What…”  
  
Rex grinned. “Damn, we fucked you up good time. Unfortunately, all things come to an end, right? Like your daddy’s reign, and now yours.” He leaned down, so their eyes were level with each other. “I wish I could see your face at the end, but there’s only room for one.”  
  
Noctis frowned, shook his head. Then Rex took hold of his chin, turned him a little, ignored his groans of protest as he balanced and maneuvered him so that he could see what was behind him.  
  
A box. Long and wooden and sturdy. There was a board of wood resting next to it, heavy looking, clearly the lid.  
  
“We took a vote,” Rex said, but his voice was distant, barely loud enough to cut in through the roaring in Noctis’s ears. “ _This_ seemed to be the most popular option among the others. Best way to finish you off and keep you somewhere safe until we arrange things with Niflheim.”  
  
_Fight, fight,_ fight _, damn you, fucking get up, hit him, stab him, do_ anything.  
  
_You deserve this. You_ deserve _this._  
  
“But hey,” Rex was chuckling again, “your face right now? That’s probably more than enough.  
  
“Okay, we’re ready!” someone outside yelled.  
  
Noctis looked up at Rex, shook his head, tried to push him away, but they really _had_ done a good job of working him over. He was useless now, a fucking _infant_ would be able to do more damage than he could right now. “No,” Noctis murmured.  
  
Jesse appeared over Rex’s shoulder, his face a one of mock sympathy. “Yes,” he mocked, his voice grating and whining. His face evened out as he looked at Rex. “Come on, let’s do this. I’m starving. There’s a burger with my name on it.”  
  
Rex smirked and nodded. “It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty.”  
  
Then his arms moved, hands ripped out from under Noctis, no longer supporting him. Instead, they pressed against his chest and _shoved_ , and Noctis was falling backwards into the box, his back colliding with the wooden floor painfully, and he cried out with it, choking back a scream when his leg was caught at an awkward angle, when Rex and Jesse maneuvered his legs so that they were inside.  
  
“One final parting gift,” Jesse said, then he was reaching down and there was a damp cloth pressing against Noctis’s mouth and nose, and he winced at the stench of strong chemicals, trying to fight back against it, shaking his head.  
  
But, whatever it was, it worked fast, and his eyes were already closing. The last thing he heard was the wood sliding into place above him before he fell unconscious.  
  
  
~&~  
  
  
He didn’t think he was out for very long. When he came around, his head hurt even worse, his limbs felt clumsy and uncooperative. He thought he could hear voices, distantly, as if from above, but it could have just been his imagination.  
  
He couldn’t see anything, it was so dark. Noctis swallowed, licked his dry lips and turned his left hand, trying to reach into the armoury, attempting to grab his phone, but—  
  
Everything hurt. Everything _hurt_.  
  
_Come on, come on, you can do it_.  
  
“Please,” he choked out, when the phone wouldn’t materialize, when it wouldn’t fit into his hand.  
  
It took a few minutes - it seemed to take _forever_ \- but he finally managed to feel it out, to pull at its familiar shape and let it fall into his fingers, and he could have cried the moment he held it. He didn’t waste time in turning it on, using the light on the screen to see inside the box.  
  
There wasn’t much space to move around in. Maybe a few inches on either side of him, so he wasn’t completely squashed in. It was taller than he was, that was for sure, as there was space below his feet and above his head. Up above, however, where the lid was, there was barely enough room for him to try and lift himself up onto his elbows.  
  
That wasn’t mentioning the fact that there were clearly no air holes.  
  
It was like a coffin. It was like he was in a fucking _coffin_ , waiting to suffocate, waiting to die, _fuck_ , Rex had _left him to die_ _—_  
  
Noctis grit his teeth and tried to swing his left leg upwards, kicking at the lid, but it didn’t even budge, and his hit was weak anyway, his injuries and muscles protesting every movement. He let his phone rest on his stomach as he pressed his good hand up into the wood, trying to shove it, but his shoulder, his wrist, his _everything_ _—_  
  
He let his hand fall back down with a dry sob.  
  
It would all go exactly as Rex wanted, wouldn’t it? He was in too much pain to do anything, trapped in this damn box, and he was obviously going to be left here until his air ran out and he suffocated to death.  
  
And it was exactly what he deserved, wasn’t it?  
  
At least if he went out now, then the war would be over. No one else would have to suffer because of him, no one would have to die for him, and everyone whose lives had been destroyed because of him could rest knowing that he was finally gone and unable to hurt anyone else.  
  
But the Crystal—Niflheim—  
  
His friends.  
  
Were they even alive? Did they know how sorry he was? Or had they died back there, when Rex and his friends had thrown them to the dualhorns? They were probably a pile of broken bones now, yet more victims of his family’s curse, more innocent people his family was responsible for _killing_ _—_  
  
But if they were alive…  
  
His phone. Noctis fumbled for it, squinted up at the screen, and he really could have broken down when he saw there was no signal. “No, please,” he moaned. He held the phone up in different places, desperate, _praying_ for the little bars to go up and—  
  
There. If he held his hand up above him, near the right corner, near the ceiling, then he could get signal. Noctis groaned, his shoulder sore and protesting at the position. If he could just get closer—  
  
He used his left foot to push himself upwards along the wood, biting his lip when his right leg was bumped slightly, when the cuts on his body were pulled at, but he managed to get far up enough that it wasn’t so much of a strain on his arm anymore. It was still awkward, but it _worked_ , he still had signal, he could try calling the others, Cor, _someone_.  
  
Anyone.  
  
It didn’t matter that he was going to die in this box, just as long as he knew if the others had made it out okay, just as long as he could let them know how sorry he was.  
  
That was all he wanted.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
It had been a rough night.  
  
An even worse morning.  
  
They had taken turns getting naps, although Prompto doubted that any of their attempts were too successful. Ignis looked like he was running only on caffeine now, Gladio seemed to be fuelled by pure desperation, and Prompto—  
  
Well, he was just beyond anxious and scared at this point. Somehow it was enough to keep him going.  
  
They hadn’t heard _anything_ from Noctis. They still couldn’t get through to him on his phone. Dave and Cindy had come up with nothing, and they couldn’t even get a hold of Cor, wherever he was.  
  
And every moment they spent sitting around doing nothing was a moment in which Noctis could be slipping further away from them. They had contemplated the idea of driving around, mostly in the area they had been fighting the dualhorns, but Noctis could have been taken _anywhere_ by now, he could have been taken far away while they had been fighting, and then running, for their lives.  
  
And now? After how much time had past? They’d be lucky if he was still in the country.  
  
The only thing the _could_ do was to keep looking, to _never_ stop looking, and to have other hunters keep an eye out for him too, except—hunters had taken him in the _first_ place. Who knew how many others were friends with Rex, who knew if they would alert him to the fact that he was being searched for.  
  
“What are we gonna do?” Prompto couldn’t help but mutter. “This is such a mess.”  
  
Ignis was climbing back into the car, returning from the store, and his eyes were serious, his jaw clenched as he started the engine. “We need to keep our hopes up,” he said. “We _will_ find him, Prompto, it’s only a matter of time.”  
  
“We could hit up some bars hunters like to go to,” Gladio suggested from the back of the car. Despite how big he was and how much space he took up, the backseat looked awfully empty with just him sitting there. “See if they’ve heard anything. Word of mouth can be a pretty useful thing sometimes.”  
  
“A good suggestion,” Ignis said. “However, we need to consider the fact that Rex and his companions tried to have us _killed_. It wouldn’t do well to be recognized by the wrong person.”  
  
Gladio grunted. “Yeah, I know. Maybe Dave can give us the heads up on who to avoid, just in case—” he was cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket, and he sighed, a little tiredly, but his face seemed to freeze once he looked at the screen. Prompto, leaning around in his seat, watched him curiously as he swiped the screen and pulled the phone up to his ear. “Noct?”  
  
Ignis had been driving away from the gas station and onto the main road, but he pulled over instantly, whirling around in his seat.  
  
Gladio’s eyes were wide. “Noct, you there?”  
  
“Put him on speaker,” Prompto hissed.  
  
Gladio looked at him sharply, but he was obeying, holding his phone out between them all as he repeated, “Noct?”  
  
“ _M’here_ ,” Noctis’s voice came through the speaker, subdued and sounding exhausted. “ _Yeah, I_ _—_ _I’m here._ ”  
  
Ignis let out a breath. “Thank goodness,” he said. He was pulling his own phone out, but his eyes kept straying over to Gladio’s in concern. “Are you all right?”  
  
There was a pause, and then a small, breathless laugh. “ _Kind of?_ ” there was a noise, like a small thud, and it had them all frowning. “ _Don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s okay._ ”  
  
Prompto bit his lip. Was it just his imagination, or did Noctis sound a little out of it and like he was slurring his words? “Noct, man, where are you? Do you know?”  
  
“I’m bringing up the map now,” Ignis muttered to them. “See if I can get him through GPS.”  
  
“ _Don’t know where I am,_ ” Noctis said. “ _They kinda...they knocked me out. For the journey. Didn’t get to see what_ _—_ _what direction we came in._ ” There was another small thud, a muttered curse and a slow breath. “ _Would’ve called sooner but I had to keep my phone hidden. Didn’t get a chance to use it until now._ ”  
  
“Noct, where’s Rex?” Gladio said. “Where’s Jesse and Lenny? Did you escape? Did you get away from them?”  
  
“ _No, didn’t escape. Rex_ _—_ _they left. Think I’m on my own now._ ”  
  
Gladio’s expression wasn’t getting any better, his eyes darkening in concern. With good reason too, Prompto thought, since Noctis seemed a little evasive. “Well, where are you exactly? Can you get away from where you are?”  
  
Noctis laughed again, which cut off into a pained groan. “ _Can’t. I’m trapped. My leg is broken and_ _—_ ” again, that _laugh_ , pained and almost hysterical sounding. It was awful to hear. “ _They’ve left me here. I’m in a box, or a crate or something. I can’t get out._ ”  
  
Prompto felt his mouth drop open, horror flashing through him like a lightning bolt. Beside him, Ignis was frozen, staring down at the phone with a stricken look, and even Gladio had paled a little.  
  
“Tell me you know where he is,” Prompto murmured to Ignis. If they noticed that his voice was shaking, then they didn’t think to mention it.  
  
“I’ve got his location,” Ignis muttered back. He quickly set his phone down into the holder attached to the dashboard, near the steering wheel, and he got the car moving again, turning them around on the road. His hand was shaking as he shoved his glasses up his nose.  
  
“Noct,” Gladio said. “When you say you’re in a box—are there any breathing holes? Anywhere that oxygen can get in?”  
  
“ _No, there’s nothing. It’s sealed._ ”  
  
The car sped up. Ignis’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.  
  
Gladio ran a hand over his face, and something cold settled into Prompto’s veins. He had known Gladio for nearly five years now, and not once had he ever looked so _worried_ , not even when Insomnia fell. Ignis too, for that matter. Prompto glanced over at him, and he was still tense and clenched, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. “How far away is he?” Prompto murmured, hoping Noctis couldn’t pick up his voice. “Please tell me it’s not far away.”  
  
Ignis swallowed, made a strange movement with his head, like he wanted to shake it. “Judging from the distance, it could take perhaps forty minutes to get there. An hour at the most.”  
  
An _hour_? While Noctis was trapped in a fucking _box_ with no holes for oxygen to seep in? Prompto blinked heavily and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You need to cut that time down,” he said.  
  
Ignis glanced at him, but said nothing.  
  
“Noct,” Gladio was saying, “just listen to me, here’s what I want you to do. Only answer questions with one syllable answers, two at the most. Other than that, don’t talk anymore, but stay on the line. We need you to stay on the line. Got it?”  
  
A pause. “ _No, listen, I_ _—_ _I only called to make sure you guys were still...that you were all right, and to_ _—_ ”  
  
“Noct,” Gadio cut him off, “we’re _fine_ , I promise you, but you gotta stop talking, kid. I mean it, this is important. Anything else you need to say can wait until we get you out of there, okay?”  
  
Another pause, longer this time, and then a soft, “ _Yeah._ ”  
  
“Good, that’s good. I need you to start being mindful of the way you breathe. Take in slow breaths, hold them for as long as you can, and then let them out slowly. Okay?”  
  
“ _‘kay._ ”  
  
Gladio let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Good. We’re coming for you right now. Ignis has your location and we’re on the way. We’ll be there soon, I promise.”  
  
Not soon enough. If only they could be there _now_ , if only this could all be over now. Noctis had been rather evasive about how he was doing. He had mentioned a broken leg, but Prompto knew there was more than that. Noctis was slurring too much for him _just_ to have a broken leg.  
  
An hour. A gods damned fucking _hour_. He wondered if Noctis could even make it that long, if he would run out of oxygen before they could get there. He wondered if this would be the last time they would ever speak to him, miles away from each other, listening as he pulled in his last breaths.  
  
“How does breathing feel?” Gladio asked. Somehow, _somehow_ , he still managed to sound so calm, his voice soothing despite his pallor, despite his worried eyes. “Does it feel okay?”  
  
“ _Yeah_ ,” Noctis murmured.  
  
“Okay,” Gladio said. “You’re doing good.”  
  
Ignis was almost driving like a madman. The car was going at a speed that would have been far too illegal back in Insomnia, the scenery a blur as they passed by, and he took corners sharply, maneuvering the Regalia with precision.  
  
Prompto wouldn’t be surprised that, given the speed they were going at, they might take a corner wrong and end up crashing the damn thing. Although he doubted Ignis would ever let that happen, not while Noctis was in danger, not while he was separated from them.  
  
Still, it was pretty amazing that they didn’t drive into any of the cars they passed.  
  
The silence was awful, broken only by Gladio occasionally asking Noctis how his breathing felt, if it felt good, if it felt bad, if he was doing okay. But what could they talk about? What could they possibly say in a time like this? It made Prompto restless, had him jittery and fidgeting in his car seat. Gladio also seemed a little restless, alternating between leaning forwards and backwards in the middle of the backseat, running his hand through his hair or pressing his fingers against his eyelids.  
  
Ignis was as still as a statue. It was a little unnerving.  
  
And then they finally, _finally_ , reached the same area as that little marker on Ignis’s phone screen, and he was slowing the car down to a crawl as they eyed the destroyed buildings, the empty area, the surrounding woodlands. It was so _quiet_ here, empty and lonely, hard to think that _anyone_ was here let alone Noctis.  
  
“Noct, we’re here,” Gladio said. “Any idea where we should be looking?”  
  
“ _Warehouse_ ,” Noctis murmured. It might have been down to Prompto’s imagination and paranoia, but he sounded a little off. It seemed like Ignis and Gladio thought so too, because they shared a sharp glance with each other, and then they were taking off for the warehouse off to the side, a little further away from the other buildings.  
  
“Start looking around,” Ignis said.  
  
Prompto stepped inside the warehouse, looking around in every direction, itching to pull his gun out. Who was to say that Rex and his cronies weren’t simply hiding, waiting for them, waiting for the right time to jump out and finish the job?  
  
The idea made him shiver. If the three of them got themselves killed before they could reach Noctis—  
  
No. Wouldn’t happen, Prompto would _never_ let that happen.  
  
The warehouse was fairly big, with all kinds of junk lying around, boxes and crates, farming equipment, old sacks that were thin and torn in places, although he couldn’t see anything that could act as a container for Noctis. This place was clearly old and _long_ abandoned, and he was beginning to wonder whether they even had the right place at all, until he caught sight of the rather new looking shackles drilled into the two support pillars.  
  
Prompto stared at them, a wave of trepidation rushing over him, made even worse when he noticed the blood on the concrete beneath them.  
  
“Guys, I can’t find him!” Prompto yelled, and he searched with more desperation, behind the stacks of crates, seeing if there were any hidden doorways, his blood running cold when he still turned up with nothing.  
  
“Keep looking!” Gladio’s voice called out from somewhere.  
  
“I think I’ve found him,” Ignis called out. He sounded like he was outside, around the other side of the warehouse. Prompto headed that way, practically running, found there were double doors at the back of the warehouse opening out into the trees beyond.  
  
Ignis was there, his face pale, searching around in the junk near the doors for something. Prompto looked at him, and then in the direction he frantically gestured at.  
  
He couldn’t see anything. Not at first. It took him longer than it should have done to realize that the dirt before them had been disturbed. The grass and the soil had been dug up at some point, in the shape of a rectangle, the perfect size for a coffin.  
  
They had buried him.  
  
Noctis had been _buried alive_.  
  
“Oh _fuck_ ,” Prompto felt like he was going to be sick, but he didn’t have the time, they simply didn’t have the _time_ to stand around in horror. Noctis was already running out of air, had been for a while now, and it would take time to dig him up, oh _gods_ , they would have to _dig him out_ _—_  
  
“Look inside for something we can use,” Ignis barked out. “ _Now_ , Prompto!”  
  
Prompto whirled around, rushing back into the warehouse. “Gladio! Go to Ignis!” he yelled. His heart was hammering in his chest, he felt _cold_ , but he wouldn’t give into his own panic right now. They had to get Noctis.  
  
So he started pulling at all the old farming equipment, throwing things aside when they weren’t anything useful, looking for _something_ that would help them. This place seemed like it had been a farm once, a long time ago. Surely farmers _dug_ things, right? For planting crops and stuff?  
  
There, _there_ , he finally found some shovels, discarded amongst other piles of junk. They looked rusted and unsturdy, but it was better than nothing. He quickly gathered them up, ignoring when he knocked over a few other things, and he stumbled back to the doors.  
  
Gladio was there this time, talking soothingly and quietly into the phone. “We’re gonna get you out, but you have to wait a moment.”  
  
And Noctis’s voice, still quiet, still so _awfully_ quiet, said, “‘ _kay._ ”  
  
“How does breathing feel?”  
  
A pause. “ _Good_.”  
  
“Okay,” Gladio looked over at Prompto, and he looked _terrible_ , eyes wide and worried, his face pale, his mouth grim. He shook his head at Prompto, mouthing ‘ _he doesn’t know_ ’ to him.  
  
Noctis didn’t know. He didn’t know he was buried underground.  
  
“Prompto wants to talk to you, okay?” Gladio said suddenly, and he was handing the phone off to Prompto, who most definitely hadn’t even _motioned_ that he wanted to speak to Noctis let alone even knew what to _say_ to him. But it was an exchange, he realized. Gladio was silently motioning for the shovels, handing one off to Ignis while he took another.  
  
Biting his lip, nodding, Prompto took the phone, stepping aside as the other two approached the patch of dirt and started digging.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
The others weren’t saying it, but he knew that something was wrong. Still, Noctis kept silent, focused on breathing slowly and staying awake and keeping his arm elevated so that he wouldn’t lose any signal on his phone.  
  
And he focused on Prompto’s ramblings, his recounting of things they had done back in high school or even while on the road. It was clearly meant as a distraction, to keep him calm through whatever was going on, whatever was wrong.  
  
But he welcomed it, he would gladly listen to Prompto’s babbling, and to the distant muttering of Gladio and Ignis, because it meant that they were _alive_ , they had made it, they had survived Rex’s betrayal.  
  
They were okay. They were still alive.  
  
Whether Noctis would be sticking around with them, well that was looking a little doubtful.  
  
Because time stopped for no one and the seconds, the _minutes_ , they were ticking by, and he only had so much oxygen to use before it was all gone. His head was aching, more than it had before, and he was dizzier. Breathing felt a little strange and it had done for a short while now.  
  
“ _Noct?_ ” Prompto’s voice came through the phone, loud and making Noctis wince. “ _You still there, bud?_ ”  
  
Noctis fought back a chuckle. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere, was it? “Yeah,” he said.  
  
“ _Just checking,_ ” Prompto chuckled, but it seemed forced. “ _And how does breathing feel? You good?_ ”  
  
Was he _actually_ going to spend his last moments repeatedly reporting on whether he was closer to dying or not? When he could be putting this oxygen to good use, like apologising for the things he and his dad had done, the suffering he had caused just by being alive?  
  
And his breathing _wasn’t_ feeling good, he didn’t feel good, and he knew that time was running out. It would have been nice, to see them face to face, to actually check on them, to confirm that they were okay. It would have been nice to apologise to their faces, so they could see it in his eyes how sincere he was.  
  
But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? He had to do it now, while he still _actually_ had a chance, but where to start? Where to start apologising for all of the _shit_ he had caused?  
  
“ _Noct?_ ” Prompto’s voice was a little louder, a little sharper. “ _Noct, are you okay?_ ”  
  
Noctis looked up at the phone screen. He wished he could see them, he wished he could see their faces one last time, to _see_ them alive and well, instead of having his last visual image of them being shoved into an ambush, that desperate, awful image, the one that had left him feeling sick all night.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Noctis said. His eyes were burning suspiciously, the screen blurring before him, and, when he blinked, there was a slight wetness running over the bridge of his nose and down his temple, into his hair. “Guys, I’m sorry.”  
  
“ _Noct?_ ” Ignis’s voice called. “ _What’s wrong?_ ”  
  
“ _Are you okay?_ ” Prompto sounded frantic now. “ _Can you breathe? Just yes or no, man, come on._ ”  
  
Noctis pressed the palm of his right hand into his eyes, trying to fight back a moan from the pain running up and down his fingers. He couldn’t see well with the phone’s light, but he could tell that the digits were still swollen, they still felt hot and thick.  
  
“I just—” Noctis swallowed past the lump in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you guys through, you know?”  
  
“ _Hell no, do_ not _talk like you’re dying_ ,” Gladio growled out. “ _Shut the fuck up and save your air, damn it. We’re gonna get you out._ ”  
  
“Are you?” Noctis shot back. “Then why haven’t you? What’s stopping you?”  
  
Silence.  
  
They didn’t want to tell him. Why didn’t they want to tell him?  
  
It struck him, then, that he couldn’t hear them through the wood. They claimed to be right there, that they knew where he was and were going to rescue him, and yet he couldn’t hear their voices without the phone.  
  
He had been able to hear Rex and his companions, even when they were at what he guessed was a slight distance from the box.  
  
But all he heard now, on the other side, was complete silence. It was heavy and thick and oppressive.  
  
It was suffocating.  
  
Noctis opened his eyes. “Where am I?” he murmured.  
  
“ _Noct_ ,” that was Ignis’s voice, quiet and soothing, _“just conserve your energy, you’ll be out within moments._ ”  
  
“Where _am_ I?” Noctis repeated.  
  
“ _Noct_ _—_ ” Prompto’s voice was weak and strangled, almost trembling, and then the phone was quieter, as if it was being muffled against something, and he could hear them muttering amongst themselves, although he couldn’t tell what they were saying.  
  
Noctis looked up at the phone. “Please,” he said. “Tell me. I have to know.”  
  
“ _Noct,_ ” Prompto’s voice came back, unsure and hoarse and _terrible_ , “ _Noct, they...they buried you. Like, as in_ _—_ _underground, you’re buried in the ground._ ”  
  
Buried. Of course. Rex had mentioned something about a vote the hunters had on what to do with him, and that this particular option kept him safe until they could negotiate with Niflheim for their reward. So they had put him in a coffin-like box and they had _buried_ him.  
  
He thought about the pictures Rex had taken. He had mentioned that Niflheim would need ‘confirmation’ that it was him, that they would have liked to see how much he suffered.  
  
Because Rex had buried him underground and probably wasn’t expecting to return until Noctis was a rotting corpse, unrecognisable without photographs as proof of who he was.  
  
Prompto was talking again. “ _But Iggy and Gladio_ _—_ _you should see them, man, they’re digging like_ champs _here. They’re gonna get you out, I promise, Noct. Noct?_ ”  
  
Noctis could only stare up at the ceiling above him, barely lit up from his phone screen. Just how much dirt was up there, separating him from his friends? It felt like a world’s worth, like they were in separate dimensions. They were in the land of the living while he was trapped in the underworld, the land of the dead.  
  
Well, at least his corpse would have a resting place.  
  
The thought had him laughing, had his eyes filling again, and he was aware of Prompto calling his name, a little hysterical sounding maybe, but Noctis could barely think past the idea that he might actually be _exactly_ where he belonged.  
  
He wondered how many of those dead innocent victims of war had the luxury of a grave.  
  
He wanted to roll onto his back, wanted to shift position, but he couldn’t. He had to keep his phone up in the corner. Shifting his body cut his laughter off, turned it into a choked cry as he knocked his broken leg, and that opened the gate for his unsteady breathing, for the trembling, for the way his eyes burned.  
  
“ _Noct_ ,” Prompto said, and he sounded devastated.  
  
“Just leave me here,” Noctis said. “Leave me down here.”  
  
Prompto made a noise that sounded _almost_ like a laugh. “ _Save your breath, man._ ”  
  
“I mean it,” Noctis bit out. It was strange, how hard it was to catch his breath back after that, how pulling air in felt a little harder, like he could only take in short breaths now. “I want you to stop digging and _leave_ me here.”  
  
“ _Noct,_ ” Ignis said, “ _if we leave you down there, you will_ die.”  
  
Noctis chuckled again, wincing at how breathless that nearly left him. “Exactly. It’s better if—if it ends this way. No one else has to die because of me. You guys don’t have to be in _danger_ all of the time because of me, _fuck_ _—_ ” Noctis squeezed his eyes shut again.  
  
“ _Noct_ _—_ ”  
  
“No,” Noctis cut them off, hell, he didn’t even _know_ who had spoken, just that they needed to leave him there because this was the _only_ way. People would only stop suffering once he was gone, once the last of his cursed family was gone. “I fuck everyone’s lives up just by being here, don’t you get it?” he choked out. “Everyone _dies_ because of me, everyone I know _dies_ , and so will you if you don’t—”  
  
“ _Shut up!_ ” Prompto snapped. “ _I meant it, Noct, save your fucking breath, because you’re outta your mind if you think we’re gonna leave you down there._ ” He made a noise then, like a sniff, and he said, in a voice that was thick and strangled, “ _You really think I can just watch you die?_ ”  
  
Noctis chuckled. “Can’t watch if you can’t see me.”  
  
“ _Damn it, Noct…_ ”  
  
He chuckled again, but it really _was_ a struggle to take in air now, his breaths short and a little raspy. It made him dizzy, it seemed to settle into his bones and it made him _hurt_. If only it could be quick. If only—  
  
“ _Noct?_ ” that was Ignis. He sounded almost as breathless. “ _Be honest, how does it feel to breathe? Are you all right?_ ”  
  
Should he tell them? Should he let them know that, no, he didn’t feel so good, he felt too light headed, his chest felt weird, he felt _bad_? What good would that do? What could that possibly do except make them panic, make _them_ feel bad?  
  
But then, didn’t they deserve to know? After everything? “No,” he said. “Feels bad. I’m dizzy.”  
  
“ _Fuck!_ ” Prompto snapped.  
  
“ _I’m digging as fast as I can,_ ” Gladio muttered in the background. Noctis had never heard him sound so out of breath before, not even after their more extreme training sessions back home. He must have been pushing himself beyond his limits if he was _that_ breathless. “ _Just hold on, Noct, we’re almost there._ ”  
  
Noctis shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered. He couldn’t steady his breathing even if he wanted to, he couldn’t go back to following Gladio’s instructions. Taking in a breath felt like a hardship, forced him to quickly take in another, but it was such a _struggle_ , it didn’t feel refreshing, it didn’t _feel good_. There was black creeping in on the edges of his vision, almost pulsing in time with his heart beat.  
  
“ _Noct?_ ” Prompto said, but it was distant, like it was coming from down a tunnel, and Noctis couldn’t focus on it properly. “ _Noct, are you okay?_ ”  
  
“I can’t,” Noctis said, but it was barely audible even to his own ears, and he repeated it, even when he could hear Prompto talking again in the distance.  
  
Then his eyes were slipping shut and he was powerless to fight against it, almost _wanted_ the darkness, wanted the relief it would bring him so that he wouldn’t have to hurt anymore, wouldn’t have to struggle.  
  
He heard a clatter as the phone slipped from his hand, and then nothing more.  
  
  
~ &~  
  
  
The line went dead.  
  
And dear _gods_ , Gladio should _not_ be describing _anything_ as dead right now given the circumstances, but the line _was fucking dead_ , it was _blank_ , as if it had been cut off, like the battery had died or the signal had been lost or _something_ _—_  
  
And Noctis had been growing quieter, whispering, sounding _strange_ , like maybe he couldn’t take in air properly, and he had said that he was dizzy and that breathing felt bad —  
  
“Dig faster,” Prompto said, staring down at the phone in his hand. He looked paler than usual, his eyes wide and terrified. “Fucking _dig faster_!”  
  
“I’m trying!” Gladio yelled back. He and Ignis had been digging for so _long_ now, it felt like forever, it felt like the dirt was never ending. His heart should _not_ have been pounding in his chest like that, it probably wasn’t anywhere near healthy, and the muscles in his arms, his shoulders, his back, they burned like they had never done before.  
  
But still he continued, shovelling dirt as quick as he could, because Noctis was somewhere beneath them, he was _right there_ beneath them, and he was _dying_.  
  
And he ignored the distant, cruel thought that taunted him. The one that whispered maybe, just maybe, they were looking in the wrong place. He didn’t know what he would do if he kept digging and came up with literally nothing.  
  
His shovel collided with Ignis’s as they dug, and Gladio glared at him. “Get out of the fucking way,” he hissed.  
  
They were running out of space to dig. There wasn’t enough room for _both_ of them to stand in the hole together, and so Ignis, with a look of regret, turned to the edge and pulled himself up to Prompto’s level, leaving Gladio to the digging.  
  
“I can’t,” Prompto was saying. He sounded like he was close to tears. “Ignis, what if he’s—”  
  
“We’re going to get him,” Ignis said. “I promise, he’ll be fine. He’ll be just fine.”  
  
Gladio could only pray.  
  
And then his shovel collided with something solid. He scraped the dirt away, and, yes, there was the crate, more than long enough to contain Noctis. On top of the lid were large stones, weighing it down, clearly making sure that escape was an impossibility.  
  
Gladio threw his shovel aside and lifted the stones, heaving them up so that Prompto and Ignis could take them from him, throwing them off to the side. Then he threw his shovel up onto the grass, trying to step out of the way as he slid the lid off of the crate, raising the piece of wood so that it could join everything else up on the ground level.  
  
And there was Noctis, bruised and bloody and dirty, _pale_ , lying as still as a corpse, unmoving and curled up on his side with his hands near his face.  
  
He almost looked peaceful. Like he was sleeping.  
  
Or like he was dead.  
  
“Oh no,” Prompto was moaning, “oh no, _no_ , no—”  
  
He had no idea where to grab Noctis. He was clearly injured in several places - hell his t-shirt was _covered_ in blood as well as dried mud - and Gladio didn’t want to make any of his injuries worse or cause him pain.  
  
But he had to get him out of there, and so he bent over, held Noctis carefully under his armpits and his knees, and he had to hold him up for Ignis and Prompto to grab. They were both grimacing, clearly horrified at the sight of Noctis, but they were just as careful as they got him out of his grave. Gladio grabbed Noctis’s discarded phone lying in the crate, pocketing it, then he turned and pulled himself out quickly, moving to take Noctis back into his own arms, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow.  
  
Ignis made quick work in checking him over, fingers pressed at the pulse point in his throat, and then he was holding his fingers near Noctis’s lips and nose. After a moment, after a dreaded, _painfully_ long moment, Ignis nodded. “He’s breathing,” he said. “His pulse seems a little weak.”  
  
“But he’s alive,” Prompto said. It almost sounded like a question. He leaned closer to gently run his fingers along Noctis’s hair, brushing it back a little. His hand was trembling. “Oh _fuck_ , look at him.”  
  
Gladio couldn’t take his eyes away from him. Noctis seemed small on any other day given their height difference, but he seemed _so small_ now, so fragile, cradled in his arms like a child.  
  
He was supposed to protect this kid. He was supposed to fucking _protect_ him, keep him out of harm’s way.  
  
Instead, he had a face that was bruised and bloody on one side, his cheek split open a little, a cut along his temple. His throat, _gods_ , his throat, it was bruised and chafed terribly. His t-shirt was in a terrible state, both with the blood and the dried mud, and it clung to him in places, as if it was stuck. Judging by the directions the blood stains ran in, Gladio was guessing that there were cuts under there, like the ones decorating his arms.  
  
His wrists were also bruised a little, cut into, like he had been chained up in something. His right hand looked strange. Three of his fingers were dark and puffy, and Gladio could tell without even touching them that they were broken.  
  
Ignis was checking over everything, lifting Noctis’s t-shirt to reveal the long cuts underneath, the almost black bruises along his ribs. “Damn it,” he muttered, then fixed the material back in place, moving down to check his legs. “His right leg is broken, close to the ankle.”  
  
“Is he gonna be okay?” Prompto was asking. “We can fix this, right?”  
  
Ignis looked up at them. His mouth was set in a grim line. “We can,” he said, a little slowly. “It might take more than a few potions, and he’ll need a lot of rest, but I’m certain we can heal him.”  
  
“Then what’s the dark look for?” Gladio asked.  
  
Ignis glanced at him. “I hate the idea of causing him pain, but we have to set his leg back into place before we give him any potions.”  
  
“Oh,” Prompto winced. “Ow. Yeah, that’s gonna be horrible.”  
  
Noctis was moaning a little, shifting in his arms, and Gladio looked down at him instantly, pulling him closer at the pained look in his eyes as they cracked open.  
  
“Hey,” Gladio murmured. He used his free hand to cup Noctis’s face, gently stroking his thumb over a patch of unmarked skin along his jaw. He kept his voice as quiet and soothing as he could, hoping to keep him calm. “Shh, it’s okay, we’ve got you. You’re safe.”  
  
Noctis was staring up at him, letting out little gasps, his eyes filling and overflowing, but there was a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.  
  
Gladio brushed one of those tears away with his thumb. “Shh, it’s okay now, it’s okay.”  
  
Prompto was coming closer, smiling a little weakly, and his voice only wobbled slightly as he said, “Hey, bud, glad to have you back with us.”  
  
Noctis reached his hand out for him and Prompto winced, wrapping his fingers around it gingerly. “Damn,” he said, laughing a little, but it sounded thin and brittle, “I don’t know where to hold onto without hurting you.”  
  
Noctis grinned weakly. “You guys look...like shit.”  
  
“Charming,” Ignis muttered, but there was no mistaking the relief in his voice.  
  
Gladio found himself smirking, a flash of fondness running through him. This kid. Just practically dragged off of death’s doorstep and already he was insulting them like a little brat. “You ain’t exactly looking too hot yourself, princess.”  
  
Noctis hummed and closed his eyes. “Did a number on me,” he mumbled.  
  
Gladio shared a glance with the others.  
  
They gave him a few moments of peace to try and orient himself, but they couldn’t wait around forever. Noctis might have been safe from suffocation now, but he still had other injuries that needed seeing to, he had his cuts and his broken bones. They needed to get him out of those dirty clothes as soon as possible, in case he got an infection.  
  
“Hey, so, listen,” Gladio said, clearing his throat, “we’ve got good news and bad news.”  
  
Noctis opened his eyes. “Good news?”  
  
“We can heal you up,” Gladio frowned at the way Noctis’s eyes flickered downwards at that, but he chose to ignore it for now. “Bad news is, Iggy has to put your leg back in place before you can have any potions.”  
  
“You haven’t had one already, have you?” Ignis asked.  
  
Noctis shook his head. “No. Go ahead with my leg. Can’t be any worse than breaking it.”  
  
Gladio shared a look with Ignis.  
  
Setting his leg back into place wasn’t a nice experience, not for any of them. Ignis had the pleasure of doing the actual work, while Prompto held Noctis’s leg still, and Gladio kept the rest of him still, holding him tightly in his arms and running a hand through his hair to try and soothe him.  
  
Noctis, to his credit, was taking it a lot better than expected. He simply turned his head further into Gladio, clutched at his jacket with his good hand and took deep breaths.  
  
“All right,” Ignis said, “on three. One—”  
  
He shoved the bone back into place, and Noctis grunted, clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. Gladio had half expected pained yells and a struggle to get away, but there was none of that. Maybe he was just too exhausted to actually do anything.  
  
“Wow, okay,” Prompto breathed out. “That was awful. You okay?”  
  
Noctis was gasping, staring up at the sky, but he nodded. “M’good,” he said.  
  
Prompto looked at Ignis. “ _Now_ can we give him a potion?”  
  
Ignis had to check over his broken fingers first, to make sure they weren’t out of place, and he felt carefully along Noctis’s ribs, but he determined there was nothing else that needed setting back. So he pulled a potion out of the armoury, opened it up, and he and Gladio helped Noctis to drink it.  
  
He seemed to hesitate at first, as if he didn’t _want_ to drink it, and Gladio frowned at that idea, hoped he was wrong.  
  
They could discuss it later, once they were away from this gods forsaken place and had him resting up in a bed, safe and warm.  
  
“Come on,” Gladio muttered once they were all done. “Let’s get you outta here.”  
  
Noctis mumbled something, and it almost sounded like a protest, but he was turning his face back into Gladio’s jacket, keeping his eyes hooded. Gladio shrugged it off for now and nodded at the others, standing carefully, turning to head back towards the car.  
  
Getting Noctis into the Regalia was a little tricky. Gladio sat him down in his usual seat, wincing with him whenever he groaned in pain. What concerned him the most was just how _compliant_ Noctis was, simply leaning his head back and watching as Gladio buckled him in and then settled himself in the car with the rest of them. He ended up with his broken leg extended so that it would reach between the two front seats. It wasn’t ideal, but they didn’t have anything to splint his leg with, and they just had to keep it in place before they could get more potions into him.  
  
“Seatbelts, everyone,” Ignis mumbled. It seemed to be catching up with him, the stress of the night, the terror of trying to find Noctis before he ran out of air, the relief of actually getting to him in time. His hands were trembling a little as he started the engine.  
  
“You gonna be okay to drive?” Gladio asked.  
  
“Yes,” Ignis said. “Just as long as we get to a motel soon. I think we’re all due for a rest after this.”  
  
Gladio could understand. He needed a long, hot shower after this, after they had Noctis settled in. He was going to have this kid fucking _tagged_ after this, hell, he was _never_ going to let him out of his sights.  
  
And to think, _humans_ had done this to him. Humans had taken him, held him captive, tortured him.  
  
Because it clearly wasn’t anything else. The way the cuts were made, the bruises, the broken bones—this was _torture_.  
  
Beside him, Noctis was slumped in his seat, looking small and frail, quiet, shivering.  
  
“You cold?” Gladio murmured to him.  
  
Noctis nodded.  
  
Gladio frowned. It _was_ a little chilly. He was hoping that was all it was, and that his time underground hadn’t left Noctis at risk for hypothermia, or that his cuts weren’t infected already. “Hey, put the roof up, will ya?” he said to Ignis. “Don’t want him getting sick on top of everything else.”  
  
Ignis nodded. “Good idea,” he said, and then the roof was sliding into place over their heads, cutting off the sounds of the engine and the distant wildlife and the breeze as Ignis began to drive them down the dirt road.  
  
The silence was a lot easier than it had been during the drive upwards, but there was still a hint of concern, broken only by Noctis’s slightly sporadic breathing. When Gladio looked at him, his heart sank a little. Noctis looked almost miserable, turned more towards them instead of hiding away, his eyes glistening.  
  
“You in pain?” Gladio asked quietly. He was pulling a new bottle out before he continued, “You want another potion?”  
  
Noctis glanced at him. “Yeah,” he mumbled eventually, nodding. He took the potion from him, held it to his lips with shaking hands. When he was done, he let it fall back into the armoury so it could be discarded later. “I’m—” he started, but his voice was a little cracked, unsteady, and he licked his lips, keeping his eyes averted as he said, “I’m really glad you guys are okay. I wasn’t sure if...I wasn’t sure.”  
  
“Hey, you know us,” Prompto half turned in his seat, smiling weakly, “we’re badasses. We laugh in the face of danger.”  
  
Ignis made a noise, like an amused scoff. “What was it you said last night? Something about your life flashing before your eyes?”  
  
“Hey,” Prompto glared at him. “Well, _clearly_ I was saying it in a joking way.”  
  
“Yeah, sure you were,” Gladio grinned, sending Noctis an amused look, and he was relieved to see the weak smile tugging his lips upwards, the way his eyes hooded with fondness.  
  
And it was only because he was looking in Noctis’s direction that he saw movement out of the window. A truck coming towards them from an adjoining road, moving at a speed that was far too fast and far too dangerous.  
  
Coming right for _them_ , not even trying to maneuver out of the way. There was no panicked driving, no signs that the driver was trying to get the vehicle under control. It was on a set path, and it was coming for them.  
  
Gladio only had enough time to yell out “Ignis!” before the truck was crashing into them with an explosion of sounds, glass breaking, metal groaning. It had speed and momentum and weight on its side, and the Regalia was shoved along the road, towards the railing—  
  
It was like the day before all over again and Gladio was powerless to stop it, he couldn’t react quickly enough. The right side of the Regalia slammed into the railing, with enough force to tip it over, to _shove_ it over, and then—  
  
Then air, and then they were crashing into the ground below, the car rolling down the bank and into the trees.  
  
And then there was nothing.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Feel free to point out any spelling mistakes/grammar issues/inconsistencies/etc!
> 
> You can find me at [tumblr](https://ivorydice.tumblr.com/).


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